


the pink stars are falling

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Love, Growing Up, Infidelity, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hongbin fell in love at 16; and all the loves thereafter never felt the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pink stars are falling

**Author's Note:**

> any song by EXITMUSIC would fit this AU, but the one that makes think of it most is [this one](https://soundcloud.com/secretlycanadian/exitmusic-the-cold)

01 She’d been doing it more frequently now, slipping away without a word, no call, no text; showing up days later in the kitchen like it never happened, breakfast on the table and a smile so forced it was hard to return. There had been days she’d forgotten to pick Hongbin up from school, days he’d walked home in the blistering heat, nape red with sunburn and half delirious only to come home to an empty house, empty fridge; watching the local news and falling asleep during the weather report. He’d wake to a cold hand on his cheek, fingers in his hair; someone beside him with their bony elbow jabbing his ribs—Taekwoon, who knew more about Hongbin’s unhappiness than he’d ever admit, asking:  _where’s your mom?_  and not hearing a response.  
  
He should have seen the warning signs, but hadn’t—or maybe they weren’t there at all. Paralyzed in front of his father who wouldn’t quite look at him; haphazard side glance which lasted only a second followed by a noncommittal grunt as he told Hongbin what happened; and left with a sinking in his gut like a stone cast in black water. Hongbin was too stunned to come up with something to say.  
  
'What do you mean she's gone?' he stammered eventually. 'That can't be right.' All the times he'd come home to his father alone on the sofa and the times he'd come home to no one at all; lonely house as quiet as a church, Taekwoon his only company—but still Hongbin couldn't (wouldn't) believe she'd simply left. 'Why.. why would she do that?'  
  
It would later occur to him how likely it was his mother had been going somewhere rather than running off; a destination, another family maybe?  
  
'You need to go find her,' he'd told his father, panicked and afraid; would she really not come home? And that was when his stone-faced father pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket, once neatly folded but now balled into an unsavory clump. Hongbin read it, then read it again; read it once more and looked at his father but already he was gone; hard slam as he pulled the door shut behind him and ultimately pulled it to stand between them: a barrier that would never be broken down.  
  
On the paper, it said:

 

 

 

_I’m sorry to leave this way. Watch out_

_for him—_ “him” being Hongbin _—and_

_please, do not come looking for me._

  
  
  
  
  
Of all the things in her too-short letter, what stood out most was her use of the word  **please**. She’d wrote it as if she were begging, truly afraid to think that they would look for her. Hongbin’s desire to track her down never quite disappeared, but he’d known as well as his father that when his mom didn’t want to be found, she would make sure she never was.  
  
Lying in his room, it felt lonelier now but he knew it was in his head, he’d have called Taekwoon—had wanted to so badly—but he was out with his sister, taking her somewhere up north. To their grandparents’ maybe. She was sick with something not unlike cancer, but at sixteen Hongbin wasn’t sure what it was—all sickness seemed to fall under one category: dying. And she was. Slowly. Taekwoon had been talking about their trip for days, excited to get her out of the house, out of bed, and Hongbin knew not to text or call unless he wanted his ass handed to him when Taekwoon got back. Whatever. It could wait.  
  
Monday morning, chattering students, school bells; a weight in Hongbin’s chest like an anvil ready to drop into his stomach. He ignored the relentless tug at his arm, Sanghyuk trying hard to pull him down the hall.  
  
'Hyung we're gonna be late,' he softly whined.  
  
Hongbin, too busy sweeping the halls for the familiar mess of raven hair—so black it made Taekwoon appear anemic under the wrong lights—was muttering  _please, please_  quietly under his breath; he hadn’t heard Sanghyuk at all.  
  
'I'll meet you there,' Hongbin said, pulling out of Sanghyuk's reach before he could force him down the hall. Then: outside into the stale autumn air, still hot with remains of summer; boiling in his uniform jacket.  
  
He found Taekwoon under the bleachers with Jaehwan, sharing a cigarette so fragrant Hongbin was scared the security would come around any minute. He stood with his hands crammed in his pockets and tears already clouding his eyes; just the sight of Taekwoon was enough to trigger the deepest parts of his sadness, the parts he’d carefully tucked away. It was a moment before he was noticed, but when he was: Taekwoon stared long and hard with narrowed eyes as if trying to read what was on Hongbin’s face, then he handed Jaehwan the cigarette and said he’d see him at lunch.  
  
It was unlike Hongbin to seek Taekwoon out during class hours. Though neighbors and friends for almost four years they hardly spent time together at school. Different grades, different crowds; Hongbin was on the honor roll with a perfect GPA whereas Taekwoon’s homework was kept last on his list of priorities. He’d often come to school smelling of tobacco and expensive cologne—stolen from his father or sometimes the store itself—his shirt untucked, tie knotted a little weirdly. And still he somehow managed to catch the eye of almost every person that passed him; and he, unaware to it all or feigning ignorance. Hongbin could never be sure.  
  
Taekwoon hooked an arm around Hongbin’s neck, pulled him the way an irritated older brother may pull at their nuisance siblings until they were alone by the tennis courts, hot sun bearing down on them.  
  
Hongbin couldn’t pretend anymore, or fight the tremble of his lower lip, and now that he was with Taekwoon, he didn’t have to. And so standing there in a silence so perpetual he had thought he’d drown in it, he let loose the sob that had been stuck in his throat.  
  
'What the hell, Hongbin?' Taekwoon had scooped him back in his arms—a much more affectionate touch this time—and cradled Hongbin’s head to his chest. ‘What happened?’  
  
It was a long time before Hongbin managed to take the letter, now in even worse condition from being read so many times, from his pocket and into Taekwoon’s hand.  
  
He read in silence. Once finished he balled the paper in his fist much like Hongbin’s father had. He didn’t say anything, but pressed his mouth to Hongbin’s temple, holding him until they were both sweaty and miserable under the morning heat.  
  
That night, Taekwoon crawled through Hongbin’s window with a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand; and though the night hadn’t ended well (Hongbin, crying on the floor while Taekwoon ran a comforting hand through his hair) it was a lot better than spending the night alone, curled up with his sadness.  
  
This was all six months ago. The omnipresent shock of his mother’s disappearance was hard—he was certain he’d never get over it—but he’d learned to suppress it the way one would suppress a bad cough: the tickle in his throat never quite went away, and sometimes there were moments when he couldn’t hold it in anymore, but often he was successful in his hidings.  
  
But he could never fool Taekwoon, and frankly, he never tried to.  
  
-  
  
'Where's your dad?' Taekwoon asked as he raided the fridge for leftover beers. He found three, stowed away behind the apple juice; small cans of Bud Light or rather  _water disguised as beer_ , as Taekwoon called it.  
  
Hongbin shrugged with his hands in his pockets.  
  
'You never know,' Taekwoon said irritably. 'He could be dead somewhere and you wouldn't have the slightest idea.'  
  
'That's his business.'  
  
'Doesn't he had a phone? Can't you call him?'  
  
'I don't know,' Hongbin said to neither question in particular. He ignored Taekwoon's scoff and the way he set his beer down too hard, metallic thud on the counter top as he fixed his attention to the soccer match on the television—a far away look in his eyes that was almost unsettling to see. Hongbin was familiar with this look by now, had seen it enough times in the last week that it no longer alarmed him. Taekwoon's sister wasn't getting any better: deteriorating health, frequent hospital visits; she was hardly home anymore. And Taekwoon: left hostile and angry, ready to harm the first idiot to glance at him wrong. Thankfully most people avoided him.  
  
And some minutes later, ‘I got paid last night. Thought I’d take you out or something,’ smiling like his anger had never existed in the first place. ‘I mean,’ he pushed his hair off his forehead, ‘it’s not a lot. But I can take you to dinner.’  
  
'Okay.'  
  
'Just okay?'  
  
Hongbin gave a small laugh, amused by Taekwoon’s constant need for elaborate reaction. ‘That sounds nice, hyung, but..’ he thought of his hair, hastily pulled in a bun, messy and knotted at the ends; the laundry he’d been meaning to do but somehow kept forgetting. ‘Can we order take-out instead? I don’t really want to go anywhere.’  
  
So they ordered Chinese from the restaurant up the road and ate it on the living room floor, the soccer match turned up ridiculously loud; and when the containers were scrapped clean and the trash taken to the bin outside, they moved to the couch and lay in a heap: Hongbin curled in Taekwoon’s side with his chin resting on his chest, fighting to keep his eyes open as Taekwoon’s fingers carded through his hair.  
  
When Taekwoon’s sister stopped coming home from the hospital Hongbin was so often dragged to the public library, he first thought it was a joke—Taekwoon studying behind bookshelves? Taekwoon with textbooks open in front of him, sometimes three at a time? But what was confusing at first came to make sense as Hongbin remembered when Taekwoon’s sister went to their school, perfect grades and ranked highest in her class; she’d been something of a mogul. He never asked outright if this was the reason behind Taekwoon’s sudden interest in school, but Hongbin was pleased to see him take something serious for once. And after these sessions, which were mostly made up of Taekwoon hunched quietly at a table as Hongbin scoured the American Poet’s section on the upstairs levels, they’d stop by the corner store on the way back home and grab a bottle of liquor—mostly vodka, but sometimes whiskey when Taekwoon was feeling extra anxious. They’d share it on the walk back and finish it in Hongbin’s room with the radio turned loud and the television muted.  
  
They knew how dumb it was to drink on school nights, but still they’d fall asleep drunk and wake with headaches just behind their eyes; Hongbin fretfully trying to comb his fingers through hair, grown too long and too curly, and eventually throwing it all into a ponytail that never looked right. On the mornings when they were running especially late (and there were many of them) they’d fight over who got to shower first and, ultimately, who got the hot water; some fights growing so loud Hongbin’s father would shout for them to  _shut the hell up_ ; and Hongbin upstairs in a headlock with Taekwoon bearing down on him. But there were times when he got his way, shoving Taekwoon onto the hallway mat, locking the bathroom door only to hear Taekwoon beat on it for five minutes, calling him every name he could think up.  
  
It was getting out of hand, beginning each day with a fight, hating each other until it all died away to the back of their minds; and maybe Taekwoon understood this, or just wanted to fix the problem—it was the only logical reason Hongbin could come up with—but one day—a day that wasn’t special on any account—Taekwoon muttered from inside the shower, ‘ _get the fuck in here and wash your hair_.’  
  
Hongbin was on the closed toilet lid, had been complaining for almost five minutes straight about the cold outside and the water boiler— _the floors are so cold,_   _hyung, can’t you hurry up_?—but now he sat quietly with his heart steadily crawling into his throat, stomach feeling strange and empty; his head a little light. He asked, ‘What, are you being serious?’  
  
'Well,' a pause like he was thinking it over, 'yeah. I'm serious. It's not a big deal, is it? I mean, it'll save time, huh? You won't have to take a cold shower. Sounds.. good, right?'  
  
'I…' and rising to his feet, growing embarrassed; trembling as he discarded his clothes. 'I guess so, yeah.' He pushed back the shower curtain, stepped in timidly; and the bathroom suddenly felt too bright and too small, but Taekwoon pulled him by his arm until he was fully immersed under the spray of water. It was as if this was all absolutely normal. He even handed Hongbin the shampoo, and told him to move his ass.  
  
They showered together regularly after that, deciding that it saved a substantial amount of time—time spent lying in bed with Taekwoon’s chest pressed hard to Hongbin’s back—and water too. But besides helping the ecosystem, Hongbin liked having Taekwoon in there with him. They had a secret that no one would ever find out about; and on mornings when he was feeling friendlier than usual, Taekwoon would wash Hongbin’s hair for him, and help rinse the suds from his arms and back.  
  
It happened on the weekends too, both of them knowing they didn’t have an excuse to do it, but doing it anyway. Sometimes they’d stand under the hot water, heat rising and the mirrors fogged over, like a sauna or a hot spring; each of them enjoying the other’s company, but never saying it out loud.  
  
It was during one of these weekend—sometimes 20 minute long—showers that Hongbin turned his back to the water and found Taekwoon standing exceptionally close. There was a look of pure fear in his eyes as he chewed incessantly on his lower lip. Hongbin was trying to think up something to say, to ask if everything was okay, but then Taekwoon’s hand was cradling the back of his head, fingers in his hair; and the space that had been between them was suddenly closed as Taekwoon stepped forward, head tilted to the left. He kissed tight-lipped and too hard, but his mouth was warm and Hongbin’s knees had grown weak.  
  
When he pulled back his eyes were wide, searching, fixed on Hongbin’s face, maybe looking for an expression that Hongbin was sure wasn’t there; and he, too shocked to say or do anything. He only stood there as the water grew chilly on his back, Taekwoon’s fingers loosening in his hair; and it was when his hand fell away completely that Hongbin reached for him. Still stunned but now more aware of his surroundings. He put one hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder, the other on the side of his face. He kissed Taekwoon softly, apprehension melting away as Taekwoon kissed back, open mouthed with his tongue swiping across Hongbin’s bottom lip.  
  
They didn’t stop until the water was spraying cold, almost freezing, and Hongbin was achingly, embarrassingly hard; without clothes it was impossible to hide, but Taekwoon didn’t seem to mind.  
  
For two days they acted like it never happened.  
  
Saturday night; a whiskey night, locked in Hongbin’s room because his father was home for once. He was in the living room watching something obnoxiously loud, violent; Taekwoon hooked his iPod to Hongbin’s speakers to help drown out the noise.  
  
'Don't light that in here,' Hongbin said when he saw Taekwoon reaching for his cigarettes. Then when he glared from beneath hair that had grown over his eyes: 'Open the window at least…'  
  
Taekwoon set the pack aside without a word and flung himself onto the bed, arms behind his head. He said, ‘We never really do anything.’  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
'Never go out. That sort of thing. We're always here.'  
  
'Well,' idly picking at the carpet, 'what do you wanna do?'  
  
'See a movie, maybe?'  
  
'We have movies here.'  
  
Taekwoon sighed, a small, exasperated sound. ‘Do you not want to go out? Is that it?’  
  
'I just don't get why you want to all of a sudden—'  
  
'A date, Hongbin. I want to take you on a fucking date. Do I have to spell it out?'  
  
Hongbin stared a long time at Taekwoon who wasn’t looking back, sure it was all a joke; something mean that Taekwoon would laugh about for months. ‘Are you serious?’ and hoping so desperately that he was.  
  
Taekwoon nodded and said nothing.  
  
And mumbling to himself:  _a date_? Hongbin had never been on one before, had never even thought of them. Even though most of his classmates were already in relationships verging on serious, he’d grown content with the idea of being alone. But it wasn’t until now that he realized alone always meant with Taekwoon.  
  
'Yes or no?' Taekwoon asked. He was staring at the ceiling and so didn't see when Hongbin nodded.  
  
'Okay,' he eventually said aloud. 'That would be… it'd be fun. Right?'  
  
An ordinary night, nothing special, sat in the front row of a small and dark theater with fifteen other people as company, watching some cheap horror film that had them both nauseous ten minutes in. It was starting to feel like a drag, all the blood and gore on the big screen and Hongbin left wincing, shifting in his seat. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, took his hair out of its rubber band only to put it back up again; and when he went to fix his jacket—put the hood up, or maybe take it off completely—Taekwoon reached over and snatched his hand. He whispered a stern:  _stop fidgeting_ , and when he turned away he didn’t let go; fingers carded through the empty spaces between Hongbin’s own. They sat like this until Hongbin’s palm was sweaty, fingers clammy; and he, uncomfortable and a little self conscious.  
  
And on the bus ride home: Hongbin resting his cheek to Taekwoon’s shoulder, studying their reflections in the blackened windows. He couldn’t tell if Taekwoon was really smiling, or if it was trick lighting.  
  
Two weeks later in the dark of Hongbin’s bedroom, Taekwoon sat with his back against the wall and his hands atop his head. He’d been quiet all day, glancing between his hands and his shoes; grunting when asked a question, ignoring Hongbin and all his comments. A game was on television, but he wasn’t watching.  
  
A quarter to eleven that evening and Taekwoon sighed, first signs of stirring from his mental hibernation; he cleared his throat and said, ‘She’s not getting better. My sister. She’s.. I mean, she’s really not,’ and he sat for a long time without moving.  
  
Hongbin played with the strings of his jacket, frayed ends that only worsened as he plucked them apart, nervous fingers with a gentle tremor to them. He watched as Taekwoon brought his hands from his head and ran them down his face, pulling at the skin beneath his eyes as if trying to pull his face off completely.  
  
'She's—' he cleared his throat. He was irritated with himself, Hongbin could tell; hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. 'She's dying, Hongbin,' and he tried to hide the quiver in his voice by forcing a bark of laughter, such a miserable sound Hongbin's eyes clouded over. 'I don't want her to die.'  
  
Soundlessly, Hongbin crawled across the bed from where he’d been sat on the edge to sit beside Taekwoon, and though he didn’t move to accommodate Hongbin in the slightest, Taekwoon allowed him to put his arms about his neck, to nuzzle into the side of his face as he started to cry; silent tears that flowed like running water. Never ending. It was the first time Hongbin had seen Taekwoon cry.  
  
'What am I supposed to do after she's gone?' He whimpered so softly Hongbin almost didn't hear it. 'I can't stay in that house. I can't. What am I—' doubled over with his face in his hands, knees to his chest.  
  
'You can live with me,' Hongbin said on a whim, desperate to stop the tears. 'You can stay as long as you want. You don't have to go back. I promise, hyung.'  
  
Taekwoon wiped his eyes, sniffed; he laughed softly, empty sound. ‘I don’t wanna do that to you, Bin-ah.’  
  
'What do you mean?' and inching closer, all but crawling into Taekwoon's lap. 'You know my dad's never home anyway, he wouldn't even notice. And if he did, what would he say? He likes you a lot. Probably more than he likes me—' he tried to laugh and failed horribly. 'Besides, I'd like you to be here. With me. You might be too sad to be alone after…' faltering, looking away, 'and even if you do wanna be alone, we have the extra bedroom down the hall. I won't bother you—' and raising his voice as Taekwoon opened his mouth, 'unless you wanted me to. Of course.'  
  
Reserved, shaking, Taekwoon glared so intensely Hongbin first thought he was trying to find a fault line; to see if it was a joke he had failed to catch, but as suddenly as the tears came they stopped; and Taekwoon, reaching for Hongbin with both hands, eyes never turning away. He put a hand on either side of Hongbin’s neck, pulled him in until their mouths were touching, lips trembling with the faintest taste of salt.  
  
They hadn’t kissed since the time in the shower, though Hongbin thought about it a lot—more than he’d like to admit: nights when he was alone in bed with heat pooling in his stomach, brushing his teeth the morning after as if trying to rid himself of a bad after taste, and scrubbing his hands until they were raw. He was sure there was a penalty for jerking off to thoughts of your best friend’s mouth, but here he was: kissing said mouth with harbored desperation so transparent he was ashamed of it.  
  
Taekwoon continued to kiss him—hard, heated, messy with his tongue in Hongbin’s mouth, fingers curled in the front of his shirt. He made soft sounds at the back of his throat that Hongbin loved the instant he heard them. They were gentle, like Taekwoon’s hands; so pretty they turned Hongbin’s bones to water, melting him down and leaving him with nothing but a burning in the pit of his stomach. He tugged at the back of Taekwoon’s hair, bit at his lower lip; he pulled at his shoulders unsure of what he wanted but knowing he needed Taekwoon close. And when he felt light fingers brush the inside of his thigh, he stilled, heart in his throat and blood throbbing in his temples.  
  
Afraid and confused—he’d never been touched by hands that weren’t his own—then Taekwoon was whispering, ‘I won’t do it if you tell me not to,’ and Hongbin didn’t have it in him to speak. So he shook his head hard, clutching at Taekwoon’s shirt. He rolled his hips, subtle motion that Taekwoon caught easily, and that’s when his hand moved from Hongbin’s thigh to his crotch, just the tips of his fingers brushing along the seam of Hongbin’s jeans. The pressure was faint, but enough to make him whine, stomach flexed with knots. He let Taekwoon push him onto the mattress, arched his neck and threw his head back as Taekwoon pressed the heel of his palm between his legs. Hongbin, hard and wet and leaking precome all over the front of his briefs, mewled as the pressure hardened—and suddenly, Taekwoon was unclasping the buttons on Hongbin’s jeans, pulling them down his legs and completely off, thrown somewhere in the corner with the rest of the dirty laundry.  
  
It was exhilarating, terrifying, to have someone touch him. His toes curled, he couldn’t help it; just like he couldn’t help the sounds he made or the rush of blood from his head to his stomach; gasping out curses as Taekwoon tightened his fist around his cock, pumping him slowly at first, but gaining speed. He panted encouraging sounds in Hongbin’s ear, breathless moans and barely there whimpers that made Hongbin’s face hot, a ringing deep in his ears.  
  
Then, whispering: ‘Bin-ah, you’re really wet,’ with something like admiration in his voice. Except Hongbin was too embarrassed to think this was a good thing. He brought a hand over his face, fighting—though barely—when Taekwoon tried to pry his fingers away.  
  
And Taekwoon kissed him with a hand cradling the back of Hongbin’s head, a deep kiss that spread tingles all over Hongbin’s scalp, the nape of his neck, down his spine; and all the while: his hips rocking forward to meet Taekwoon’s hand, blood boiling in his veins. He came with a cry muffled by Taekwoon’s kiss, sweat rolling from his temples and dampening his hair; so floored by the sensations and the sudden tightness in his chest. He was breathless, couldn’t move; so it was Taekwoon who grabbed a towel from the bathroom and cleaned him up; Taekwoon who undressed him and then himself so they could take a shower together.  
  
He didn’t ask Hongbin to touch him, didn’t even hint that it was something he wanted; it seemed he was fully content crawling into bed with Hongbin cuddled up against him, and nothing more.  
  
They kissed a lot after that, almost every day; and sometimes it was all they ever did. Holed up in Hongbin’s room with a bottle of old scotch Taekwoon found in his mother’s drinking cabinet, wasted and practically falling over each other. They’d kiss until it hurt, the ache between Hongbin’s legs too much to bear—once he even begged Taekwoon to touch him, and Taekwoon had laughed, so amused by the blatant way Hongbin said:  _hyung, **please** —I’m, I’m_… and whimpering—whimpering so loudly it was as if he’d die if Taekwoon turned him away.  
  
Weeks of this and Hongbin never touched back, but the urge was there, buried under the anxiety and fear of touching too hard, too lightly; it seemed that Taekwoon knew what he was doing. His fingers always brushed the right spots, perfect amount of pressure that had Hongbin keening—but what if when Hongbin touched him, he did it wrong? What if Taekwoon decided he didn’t like the way Hongbin used his hands and asked him never to do it again?  
  
It was becoming a problem, and quickly too. Taekwoon was bolder now, pressing his crotch flush to Hongbin’s thigh, thrusting against him, brushing a palm between his own legs when Hongbin came. He’d recently taken to showering alone, or at least going first, asking Hongbin to wait a few minutes before joining him. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Taekwoon was doing in there. It made Hongbin feel that much worse—and maybe he could have picked a better time than the middle of the night to finally return the favor, especially since Taekwoon was asleep. But it was his closed eyes, parted mouth, breathy pants against Hongbin’s cheek that pressed him to do it.  
  
He kissed Taekwoon’s mouth, then his jaw, he nuzzled him awake by snuggling his face into the crook of his neck; and once hearing Taekwoon’s guttural, ‘What is it?’ he set to work.  
  
He thought of all the things Taekwoon did that drove him crazy: the tingles he got in his thighs when he felt only the tips of Taekwoon’s fingers, when he’d tease until Hongbin was sure he would catch fire. Following what little leads he had, Hongbin pushed his hand up Taekwoon’s inner thigh, his touch feather-light. After all: they were only wearing their underwear.  
  
'…Bin-ah,' sleepy drawl, shift of his hips, 'you don't have to—' and gasping sharply as Hongbin palmed the front of his boxers.  
  
Hongbin’s mouth was bone dry, breath shaken. Taekwoon was hard, warm; the front of his boxers damp and only growing more so as Taekwoon ground against his hand. Muffled moans and a whine that fueled the already blazing fire inside him, Hongbin reached into the opening of Taekwoon’s underwear, and wrapped his bare fingers around his cock.  
  
Taekwoon was thick and pulsing, wet all over as he thrust into Hongbin’s hand, and as it turned out: Hongbin didn’t have to do much. The moment he’d taken Taekwoon into his hand, Taekwoon had placed his own atop Hongbin’s, guiding him, showing him how fast and how hard he liked it; and even though Hongbin was touching him, he wasn’t doing any of the work, rather allowing Taekwoon to use his hand however he pleased.  
  
He lasted a surprisingly short time, but Hongbin didn’t mention it. And when he came, a strange pride swelled in Hongbin’s chest, something akin to adrenaline, a thrill—knowing the spent way Taekwoon was breathing, and the color in his cheeks, was all because of him.  
  
A month of this and little else; showers that had long since gone cold by the time Hongbin got around to washing his hair, nights spent with the radio loud and the door locked; Taekwoon sneaking through the window and sometimes not leaving for days. Hongbin knew he was avoiding something, had a good idea of what, but would never ask—until the news came of Taekwoon’s sister. She had less than a week to live. Simple as that.  
  
Taekwoon begged Hongbin to come along to the hospital, so he had, though only once. It was all he could take. Pale, sallow lights and ugly wallpaper; never ending hallways that were scary and ominous like those from a horror movie, locked doors without the faintest idea of what hid behind them. Hongbin, festering with guilt as he trudged slowly behind Taekwoon, afraid to go any farther and ultimately having to be dragged into the room where she lay like a corpse already.  
  
The funeral was short, only immediate family were invited—and Hongbin, of course. Crowded around a casket trimmed in black; Taekwoon never lifting his eyes from the ground, glaring hard with hatred bright in his dark eyes, a crease in his forehead Hongbin thought would never go away. And that night: climbing through the window at four in the morning, drunk off cheap wine—trashed, more than Hongbin had ever seen him before. He collapsed on the floor and stayed there so long Hongbin thought he had fallen asleep, but when he peered over the end of the bed, he found Taekwoon staring so emptily at the ceiling it scared him. He wouldn’t come to bed when Hongbin asked him to, wouldn’t take the blanket or the pillow offered, but he did let Hongbin lie beside him and brush the hair out of his eyes.  
  
Taekwoon didn’t talk for four days. He’d sit at the kitchen table and watch his hands, cups of coffee so bitter Hongbin couldn’t choke them down; and smoking a pack a day, leaving the empty boxes scattered throughout the house. He hardly ate at all.  
  
'I'm going to Osaka,' Taekwoon said calmly one evening. He was leaned against the open pane of Hongbin's window; a cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his mouth.  
  
'Japan?'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'What for?'  
  
'To live.'  
  
Hongbin started to shake. ‘…what?’  
  
'I can't take it here anymore,' he whispered. It'd been two months since the night he lay on Hongbin's floor, but the emptiness in his eyes had never been filled. 'I'm done with school now. What is this place gonna give me, huh?'  
  
Hongbin bunched his shoulders around his ears, easy way of saying  _I don’t know_. He swallowed thickly.  
  
'Come with me,' Taekwoon said so suddenly Hongbin was sure he misheard. 'I'll buy you a plane ticket, and we can get an apartment. We can have a life there. Just us. What do you say?'  
  
'Hyung, I don't know—'  
  
'I'll get a job. I always wanted a job at a bar. Free beer, right?' He laughed, a hollowed sound that hurt Hongbin's heart. 'And you're almost seventeen now. You could get a job, too. I wouldn't make you, though. I'll work two if you want me to. I won't mind.'  
  
'Taekwoon…'  
  
And suddenly furious, ‘ _What_? You don’t want to come with me?’  
  
'I'm still in school, hyung.'  
  
'Go to school there! Enroll. I'll take you myself. You can transfer your…' he stopped as Hongbin shook his head. 'What is it?'  
  
'I'm a minor. I can't do these things on my own.' Hongbin, cross-legged on the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, cradled his face in his hands. Hiding. 'I can't go, hyung. I want to.. but I just can't.'  
  
'Fine.'  
  
'Taekwoon—'  
  
'No, it's fine.' Taekwoon threw his cigarette out the open window, half smoked and still burning. 'I'll come by later. Leave the window open.'  
  
'Hyung,  _wait_ —' but he didn't.  
  
It was three in the morning when Taekwoon returned, red rimmed eyes and a flush on his cheeks like he’d been out in the cold all night. When he came into bed and took his rightful spot behind Hongbin—who spent the whole night lying awake, upset, terrified that for some reason he’d never see Taekwoon again—he draped his arm about Hongbin’s waist, and nuzzled his nose to his neck.  
  
'I don't want you to go,' Hongbin said.  
  
'I don't want you to stay,' Taekwoon said back.  
  
'What if I never see you again?'  
  
'I'll visit.'  
  
Hongbin turned in his arms, scoffed disbelievingly. ‘If you’re leaving because you hate it here, why would you come back?’  
  
'Visit, Hongbin. It's not a big deal to stop in and see you over summer or something.'  
  
‘ _I don’t wanna wait until summer_ —' and he started to cry. Never mind that Taekwoon held him tighter, closer, kissed his wet cheeks and tangled his fingers into the back of his hair. It didn't matter anymore, because who Hongbin once thought of as the only reliable person in his life was about to leave. And though he knew Taekwoon was upset about it, he wasn't upset enough not to go. Did Hongbin mean so little to him?  
  
He cried until Taekwoon kissed his mouth, started to whine when he felt hard hands grab at his hips; and without a reason not to, let Taekwoon put his hands up his shirt, in his pants; take his clothes off until they were both lying naked.  
  
He spread his legs, welcomed the weight of Taekwoon between them, and with a sigh, felt Taekwoon’s hands all over him, inside him, touching deeply, caressing him until he moaned Taekwoon’s name, sharp gasps and light-headedness that made Hongbin dizzy until he felt he was drowning beneath it all, gasping for air that he couldn’t find. The push and pull of Taekwoon’s body, hips rocking forward, slow grind; and Hongbin whimpering through it all, eyes rolled shut as he came with his hands buried in Taekwoon’s hair, legs wound about his hips and their bodies unbearably close, sweaty, melting into each other until there was nothing left.  
  
7 in the evening; it may as well have been the middle of the night the sky was so black. At the end of Hongbin’s driveway: Taekwoon, with a beanie over his hair and a suitcase in his left hand.  
  
'Are you sure you don't wanna see me off?' he asked Hongbin who stood with his arms tightly crossed, eyes on the sky as if waiting for something—an oncoming storm, maybe.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
There was a long silence before Taekwoon spoke unsteadily. ‘Probably better like this, anyway,’ and he looked everywhere but at Hongbin. ‘I’ll keep in touch. I’ll call you every weekend. Write you letters. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.’  
  
_I want you to stay_ , Hongbin thought; ‘Be safe,’ was what he said.  
  
Taekwoon’s arm around him, holding loosely as if afraid to grip too tight—did he think Hongbin didn’t want to be touched? If that were the case: it wasn’t true. Hongbin wanted to tell him, but his own arms were slack by his sides; he wasn’t even trying.  
  
Then Taekwoon whispered, ‘I love you,’ into his ear, and the streetlights suddenly looked too bright, angry, the sky too dark and not a single star in sight, Hongbin felt his heart speed up only to slow a moment later, weak like that of a dying beast’s; one last good pump before it’d give out altogether.  
  
How badly he wanted to say it back, to tell Taekwoon he loved him too, more than he could understand—loved him more than he loved himself, but what good would it do them now? Hongbin hated him for saying it—how could he do something so fragile when tomorrow he wouldn’t exist in the same country anymore? And as Taekwoon walked away, walked backwards, never taking his eyes off Hongbin; all Hongbin could think was how much he hated himself for letting the moment pass. There, and then gone; and in it’s place, a new moment: Taekwoon standing by the passenger side of his father’s car, the clear and bare sky hanging like a tapestry, Taekwoon bright against its stark blackness, smiling—but not the least bit happy.  
  
'I'll keep in touch,' he said again as he rapped his knuckles against the hood of the car. Then into the passenger seat, driving off, driving too quickly, another moment: gone. Hongbin could see his arm out the window, cigarette burning between his fingers; and he, left alone on the side of the road, his insides turning ice cold.  
  
-  
  
Two months passed and still Hongbin wasn’t used to the emptiness of his bedroom: the window unlatched every night—a habit he didn’t think he’d ever break; his bed that was too big, too lonely, for only one person; the lingering scent of stale cigarettes that he couldn’t tell was really there or simply his imagination. He thought it may have been a bit of both. All of this bore down on him like a weight, like claustrophobia, suffocating and making him lonely. On the worst nights he’d walk through the park only to find himself on the same familiar trail he and Taekwoon would take after school; and in the bookshops: fingers tiptoeing across titles he knew Taekwoon loved, then back in his room to lie in the dark and wait for the chirp of his phone. A call, a text; anything, so long as it was Taekwoon. He’d developed a habit of ignoring everyone else. Not that many people seemed to mind. He hadn’t been very close to them, anyway.  
  
He read  _House of Leaves_  and  _The Count of Monte Cristo_ ,  _The Great Gatsby_  and a handful of George Orwell; and after every book he finished, it was Taekwoon he called to talk about them—not the kids in his class, or even Sanghyuk; and certainly not his father.  
  
‘ _Count of Monte Cristo_ , huh?’ Taekwoon asked one evening. His voice was even softer over the phone. Hongbin, sat with his back against his locked bedroom door, knees to his chest, had the phone pressed hard to his ear, afraid to miss even a sigh. ‘Didn’t we have to read that in class?’  
  
'I don't know. Did you?'  
  
'I think so. But I don't remember it.'  
  
'Then you should read it again.'  
  
Taekwoon, laughing: ‘You just said it was boring. Why would I—’  
  
'Boring to me! You'd love it. It's, like, violent and deep. Emotional. Kind of like you.'  
  
'Ha-ha. You're lucky I can't kick your ass,' and laughing softly together but still feeling so empty. 'I'll look for it. But I gotta go, alright? I'll give you a call in a couple days. Take care of yourself, huh? Don't get sick, it's getting cold out.'  
  
Their conversations never ended in  _I love you_ 's, or even very sweetly. Sometimes it was only a quick  _gotta go_ followed by dead silence; Hongbin left talking into his phone without anyone there to hear him—and ultimately feeling stupid when he realized he was alone again. He thought a lot about what Taekwoon had told him, wondered if it was a platonic  _I love you_  like something you’d say to your grandmother before leaving for a few years, and as time droned on he was afraid this was exactly what it was. But he never had the heart to ask, too ashamed to let Taekwoon know he loved him back. Or rather: loved him at all.  
  
Taekwoon never did read  _The Count_ , or if he did he never said anything. Hongbin liked to think there was an old bedraggled copy somewhere in Taekwoon’s apartment, maybe at the back of his bookshelf, under his bed—somewhere unsafe because that was Taekwoon: always leaving his books on the floor in stacks and heaps, torn edges and ripped covers, spilled coffee all over the pages. He thought of asking, but realized it was pointless.  
  
02 Seasons changed. Snow fell, summer returned; and Taekwoon never came back home. He still called every day, or every two; always late at night when Hongbin was in bed, half asleep; voice rough and often irritated. It was getting harder to be cheerful; he’d long since stopped hoping for a surprise visit. Hardly lonely anymore, he thought maybe he’d grown used to it; silence was a companion now, not the enemy. It was easier this way.  
  
'I hope you're taking care of yourself,' Taekwoon said one night. It was half past one in the morning.  
  
'Don't worry.' Hongbin put a hand to his forehead, his eyes still shut; rolling onto his back, he cuddled the phone to his ear. 'I always take care of myself.'  
  
'Think you're any taller now?'  
  
'Uh. I guess? People grow, right?'  
  
'Don't be a smart ass.'  
  
'Well, then, don't be a dumb ass.'  
  
‘ _Hey_ —’  
  
Hongbin tucked the phone between his pillow and his ear, laughing softly into the mouth piece. ‘Sorry, hyung.’ He closed his eyes again, felt the first waves of exhaustion roll over him. All he ever did anymore was sleep.  
  
'Your eighteenth birthday's coming up,' Taekwoon said. 'Are you excited?'  
  
Hongbin grunted. ‘Sure.’  
  
'You should be,' and here: a pause so long Hongbin had to check if the call had been dropped. 'I'm gonna try and get the time off'—Hongbin bolted up in bed; blankets pooled around his hips—'Take you out for the weekend.' And dropping his voice to a whisper: 'I wanna come see you.'  
  
'You're serious, hyung?' He was clutching the hem of his shirt, unaware his hands were shaking. 'Like, really, really, serious?'  
  
'Of course I'm serious, what the hell. It's your eighteenth! You're, you know, becoming a man. I gotta be there for it.'  
  
Hongbin brushed a hand over his eyes, brought back fingers that were wet. ‘Taekwoon,’ he flung himself onto his back, misery eating away at his insides. ‘I miss you.’ It was the first time he’d ever said it.  
  
'I know,' a pause. 'I miss you too, Bin-ah. It's only a couple months, though. We can hold on a little longer, right?'  
  
Small sound, something like a whimper; Hongbin sniffed.  
  
'You're okay?' Taekwoon asked softly.  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'I gotta get back to work now.'  
  
'No.'  
  
'I'm on break.'  
  
'Hyung,  _no_ —' the tears started to flow, heavy in his lashes, making his eyes stick shut; voice quivering as he spoke— 'I don't want you to go.'  
  
'…Hongbin.'  
  
'Your calls are always so short!'  
  
'It's only because I'm working,' slowly, like tiptoeing around the problem. 'Don't you have a shirt of mine or something? Sleep in it.'  
  
'You took them all.'  
  
'I'll send one.' Then: 'Bin-ah..'  
  
Hongbin: blood pounding his ears, pulse in his neck like a drum beneath his skin. He sat up again. ‘Yeah?’ Was he going to say it?  
  
'Get some rest.'  
  
Heart sinking into his stomach; he hung his head, rubbed his eyes. He didn’t think Taekwoon would ever say I love you again. ‘Alright.’  
  
They didn’t say goodbye, they never really did, but simply hung up. Hongbin lay awake for another hour—maybe two—watching as shadows played across his ceiling; headlights glaring through his window. He wondered if Taekwoon was still thinking about him.  
  
-  
  
A week later Hongbin had his back leaned to the brick wall of the liquor store, hands in his pockets, head down. He’d been doing this for a few months now, no longer having Taekwoon there to buy him alcohol was one of the dozen things he missed about last summer—that, and having someone to sleep with. He’d learned to choose the customers carefully; one too many times he’d been told to fuck off, get a life—come back when you’re older—but if he was older, would he really need their help in the first place? Idiots. Every one of them. Especially the old men who’d side eye him like he was a piece of meat waiting to be devoured, but they were the ones he’d pick first. They’d do anything for him, and wouldn’t make him pay either.  
  
Hot and tired, his shirt stuck to his chest; the summer was worse this year, more miserable—just like him (ha-ha). He never noticed the white car parked in front of him, too busy staring at his shoes—dirty laces, frayed at the ends; mud caked to the toes. He really needed to take better care of himself. But when a familiar voice, though not very familiar, called his name, Hongbin forgot all about the mud and the dirt and his disheveled appearance.  
  
In front of him, key chain swinging from his index finger, was Jaehwan. He was smiling.  
  
'What are you doing out here?' he asked.  
  
'Uh.' Hongbin shifted uneasily.  
  
And Jaehwan, knowing all too well what he wanted: ‘Pick your poison.’  
  
'Sorry?'  
  
'Alcohol, right? Tell me what you want.'  
  
Warm with embarrassment and not knowing why, Hongbin shrugged. ‘Anything? I don’t really mind.’ But Jaehwan kept staring like he knew if he waited long enough Hongbin would give a real answer. Sighing, defeated: ‘Vodka’s fine.’  
  
It was only a moment later when Jaehwan returned with a bottle so big it had a handle on it, six pack of beer under his arm.  
  
'Get in,' he clicked his car alarm. 'I'll give you a ride home. You still live next to hyung's old house, don't you?'  
  
Hongbin, slowly pulling away from the wall, but still lingering behind, had his hands bunched so far in his pockets his arms were rigid. ‘Are you sure? I can walk.’  
  
'It's hot out. Wanna get heat stroke?' And in the car, the radio loud enough it made thinking hard: 'You don't have to look so tense.'  
  
Hongbin stared out the window not knowing where else to look. He apologized softly, said, ‘I didn’t know you even knew my name,’ and only realized how stupid he sounded after the words were out of his mouth. He cringed.  
  
'Taekwoon talked about you enough. Only an idiot wouldn't know who you are.'  
  
Hongbin’s heart blossomed like a flower, quick to wilt as old loneliness returned. And all this time he thought he was over it. ‘Really?’  
  
'This is it, right?'  
  
Parked at the end of his driveway—it looked so much different in the light; not as deserted and sad as the night Taekwoon left—the bottle in his lap, clasped tightly in his hands. Hongbin peeled at the label; he felt like a loser. ‘Thanks.’  
  
'You don't wanna go in?'  
  
'No, I do. It's just—'  _this is a huge fucking bottle_. He opened the door, one foot on the asphalt; lingering, lingering, until: ‘Do you wanna…’ and stopping there, unsure how to continue. ‘Never mind.’  
  
'What is it?'  
  
'Nothing. Thanks again.'  
  
Jaehwan was leaned over the steering wheel, chin on the backs of his fingers. He watched Hongbin carefully. ‘Do you wanna hang out? I’m not doing anything until later anyway.’ Waiting a beat before: ‘You can come over if you want.’  
  
'Okay.'  
  
'Awesome.' He pulled away from the sidewalk before Hongbin's door was even shut. 'I have some stuff for you to take home anyway. Hyung left some shit behind. Shirt, a jacket I think? I don't know. Lots of shit. I don't think I'll get the chance to give it back.'  
  
'You don't talk to him anymore?'  
  
Jaehwan shook his head, bottom lip between his teeth. He sighed as he said: ‘We talked a lot when he first left, but it sort of fizzled out. He’s busy with shit over there, so no hard feelings—’ but Hongbin didn’t believe that. ‘You’re still in touch, aren’t you?’  
  
Subtle nod, guilt bubbling up his throat like bile.  
  
'Tell him I said hi.'  
  
Jaehwan’s house was big—four car garage big. Two stories and a handful of rooms, all with their doors shut; and Hongbin left curious, wondering what was behind them. It was a quiet place, tiled floors that were slippery beneath his feet; carpeted stairs leading up to a room almost twice the size of his own. Large TV; large bed, everything so big and Jaehwan so small in the middle of it all.  
  
Taekwoon’s things were hung in the closet, pressed and clean, but smelling of cologne that Hongbin didn’t know—Jaehwan’s, he assumed. And with the shirts in his arms, bundled to his chest, he heard himself say:  _thank you_.  
  
'For what?'  
  
'I don't know.'  
  
Jaehwan laughed quietly, sat at his desk with an opened can of beer. Hongbin wondered if Taekwoon had ever told him about the things they did.  
  
He didn’t know why he said it, maybe because he was standing awkwardly with an armful of clothes, or because the room was so quiet, but Hongbin muttered a soft: ‘He’s coming back in a little while. To visit.’  
  
And Jaehwan, sitting up so quickly he spilled beer on his shirt. ‘When?’  
  
'My birthday—uh, September. I'm sure he'll stop by.'  
  
'We'll see about that,' and there was something sad about the way he smiled. 'Wanna watch something?'  
  
So: sat shoulder to shoulder at the foot of his bed, television so tall Hongbin had to crane his neck to see; they took shots out of blue plastic cups. It wasn’t long before they were both drunk, laughing; Jaehwan telling him about the shit Taekwoon used to pull in school: smoking in the locker room, stealing from the teacher’s desk only to say that he’d done it; and even though these were all things Hongbin had heard before, to hear them from Jaehwan made it nicer somehow. He smiled so much Hongbin couldn’t help but smile back, ears red and warm from the drink; his whole body numb.  
  
And it was nice, he thought, to not feel so alone anymore.  
  
It was strange—at least to Hongbin, he never asked for Jaehwan’s opinion—how easily the two of them fell together. It wasn’t long—two weeks, maybe?—before they were spending every weekend in Jaehwan’s room. Midnight car rides to the nearby districts only to watch the city lights; beers in the park, falling off swings because they’d gotten too drunk too fast, and realizing too late that they couldn’t make it back home. Sometimes they’d stay until dawn, sky fading from black to blue, and them: sleeping under the jungle gym, Hongbin’s head rested to Jaehwan’s shoulder.  
  
They talked a lot about Taekwoon in the first months, but as summer blended into autumn, it was mostly college they talked about. Jaehwan was starting uni come September.  
  
'I wanna get a dorm. Wouldn't it be cool? Like having my own place.' They were on the back of his car, parked in a vacant lot only a few miles away from the airport. It was the perfect spot to watch the planes land.  
  
'You'll have a roommate.'  
  
'That's alright. They might be cool.'  
  
'What if they're not?'  
  
He shrugged. ‘I’ll have to kill them.’  
  
Hongbin giggled into his cup, sound reverberating, coming out much louder, harsher. Jaehwan shoved him.  
  
'What, you don't believe me?'  
  
'I do. Only because you're fucking crazy.'  
  
And laughing: ‘Watch your language!’ He threw an arm around Hongbin’s shoulders, leaned so heavily onto him Hongbin was afraid they’d lose their balance. He imagined them toppling from the car, soaked in liquor and covered in dirt. He laughed again.  
  
'You're so full of it tonight,' Jaehwan mumbled. And together, they fell back on the rear window, arms pillowed behind their heads. The sky looked endless: black and vast with every star twinkling. Hongbin watched as a 757 roared by, the rumble of its engine echoing through the back roads; he thought of Taekwoon for the first time in days.  
  
He hadn’t called in a while, but that morning Hongbin had woken to a text. Simple little message that said: thinking about you. It had made him ashamed of how little he’d been thinking of Taekwoon.  
  
'Let's get home,' Jaehwan said some time later. 'You look tired.'  
  
And Hongbin was. He fell asleep in the car, curled in on himself with his head tucked down. He woke when Jaehwan tried to pull him from the car, as if he’d been able to carry Hongbin on his own anyway. And glaring irritably Hongbin shoved him away. Then up the stairs and into bed, both lying on their own side of the mattress, turned away from one another. He slept so differently with Jaehwan than he had with Taekwoon, but there were mornings when he’d wake with Jaehwan’s chest pressed to his back, his arm thrown over Hongbin’s stomach. But never did Hongbin complain about it.  
  
-  
  
September nineteenth; Jaehwan moved into his dorm. It was shared with a boy who wouldn’t look either of them in the eye, but at least their rooms were separate. It was small, compact; Jaehwan’s shit already thrown all over the place—how had Hongbin not noticed how messy he was? And sat on a twin sized bed barely able to fit the two of them, they played The Last of Us until Hongbin’s eyes burned.  
  
They lay side by side, feet off the bed; Jaehwan playing with Hongbin’s fingers. He asked, ‘Should we get drunk tonight? Like, a dorm warming party?’ and laughed. ‘I start class Monday anyway, so maybe we need one last, uh, fling.’  
  
'Fling,' Hongbin echoed, amused. 'Alright.'  
  
But neither of them had anticipated drinking as much as they did: both trashed, dizzy. Jaehwan kept tripping over his desk chair (it was too close to the bed, Hongbin told him three times when they had first arrived), and Hongbin: seeing double. He was sat on the floor with his shoulders slumped, trying to focus on a spot in the carpet, anything to clear his head. Jaehwan was groaning on the bed.  
  
'I'm gonna be sick,' he slurred, groaning louder. 'Why the fuck did we do this?' How he found the strength to laugh was beyond Hongbin.  
  
'I don't—' and shaking his head, only making himself feel worse— 'know.'  
  
'We should sleep.'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'Get up here.'  
  
'Okay.' But Hongbin couldn't get to his feet, couldn't even crawl. He started to laugh, felt his stomach turn over; and collapsed on the floor. 'I'll stay here.'  
  
'No, idiot.' Jaehwan flung himself over the side of the bed, grabbed Hongbin under the arms. 'Work with me, goddamn,' and eventually they lay in a heap; Hongbin crammed between the wall and Jaehwan's chest.  
  
'Nice up here,' smiling like he had a secret; and Jaehwan: laughing again, always laughing. He laughed more than anyone Hongbin ever knew. 'My head hurts. I think I'm dying.'  
  
'You probably are.'  
  
'Just leave me here to rot.'  
  
Jaehwan put an arm around him, pulled him tightly to his chest. He said, ‘I’ll rot with you,’ and how could something so silly sound so comforting? Hongbin let himself melt into him.  
  
He slept, but not real sleeping. Just vacant thoughts, mind numb; he was startled by his phone ringing on the desk—Taekwoon calling. He reached over Jaehwan who was still awake, a headphone in each ear. He gave Hongbin a sideways glance before scrolling through his iPod.  
  
'Helloooo,' Hongbin slurred into the mouth piece.  
  
'Hongbin.'  
  
'That's me,' singing his answer. Why was he singing? Happiness had enveloped his heart like a blanket.  
  
But Taekwoon sounded worried, annoyed. Something like that. Hongbin didn’t like the edge in his voice. ‘Are you drinking?’  
  
'Not anymore.'  
  
'You sound wasted.'  
  
Laughing. ‘I kind of am.’ He turned his back to Jaehwan, rubbed the tips of his fingers on the wall. Stucco wall, felt funny under his hand. ‘What’d you call for? It’s late.’  
  
'I'll call back tomorrow.'  
  
Full body twitch as if startled awake, like when he’d have dreams in which he was falling; and right before hitting the ground: jumping awake, finding himself in bed. Safe again. Only he didn’t feel safe now. Taekwoon was too serious—something had happened. Why else would he call in the middle of the night? Much later than he’d ever called before.  
  
'Hyung, what is it?'  
  
And breathing deeply as if it pained him to speak at all. ‘I’m not gonna make it for your birthday.’  
  
Hongbin closed his eyes and when he opened them, found he was crying. ‘Why not?’ Watery voice; he hated himself.  
  
'I can't get the time off work. Hongbin, I'm sorry.'  
  
'No, it's—' screwing his eyes shut, tears sliding from the corner of his eye down to his ear. He smeared his face into the pillow, felt Jaehwan stir behind him. 'It's not okay, but..'  
  
'I'll try again next time.'  
  
'What, my next birthday? What about before then? What about the holidays?'  
  
'That's a busy time, Bin-ah.'  
  
Hongbin groaned, pained and loud; Jaehwan put an arm around him, hand flat against Hongbin’s stomach. ‘You’re never coming back, are you? You don’t want to be back here.’  
  
'Says  _who_?’ He was angry now. Hongbin could imagine the face Taekwoon was making: narrowed eyes, pinched mouth; face flushed.  
  
Speaking softly, ‘Says me. It’s been over a year. If-if you wanted to come back, you’d have been back by now.’  
  
'I told you, I'm trying.'  
  
'I don't think you are.' And before Taekwoon could begin shouting, because Hongbin knew too well it was what would come next, he muttered, 'I'll talk to you later,' and hung up. He didn't turn over, simply handed his phone over his shoulder for Jaehwan to take, to set back on the table. 'Turn it off,' Hongbin told him and felt Jaehwan's arms back around him, comforting puff of warm breath on the nape of his neck. Chills on his arms, ice in his heart; Hongbin cried silently as Jaehwan's fingers curled tightly in the front of his shirt.  
  
When morning came he cried again because his head ached and he felt sick to his stomach; thinking about Taekwoon and realizing that all along he knew he wouldn’t come back. Hadn’t that been his biggest fear all those months ago when he said he was leaving?  
  
( _What if I never see you again?_ )  
  
Jaehwan cupped his face, told him not to cry anymore because they could celebrate his birthday together. The bars, the clubs; somewhere nice. Dinner, maybe? But it all sounded horrible. Hongbin decided he didn’t want to celebrate at all. He’d rather sit in his room and feel sorry for himself. At least for a while. But as the thought of being alone again, having to sit and stare at the ceiling, wondering if Taekwoon ever thought of him at all, made his stomach hurt even more.  
  
'We can do anything you want to,' Jaehwan said. 'Or nothing at all. We can just sleep if you want.'  
  
'Sleep forever.'  
  
'We can try. But, I mean, I'm gonna get hungry.' False cheer in his voice, he nuzzled into Hongbin's cheek. He was warm, so Hongbin nuzzled back, combed his hands in Jaehwan's hair; forehead's now leaned together.  
  
They slept until dark, and when they woke: showers, and sharing a pack of instant ramen. Then back into bed, still hungover and aching all over. Hongbin pressed his face to Jaehwan’s spine; a fluttering in his stomach like the barely there touch of fingers.  
  
His phone stayed off for the next three days.  
  
-  
  
Taekwoon called on his birthday; strained and tired, tension built up so high Hongbin was sure it’d come crashing down any minute. But it hadn’t. Taekwoon was doing well acting like nothing was amiss, pretending what Hongbin said hadn’t hurt him—maybe it hadn’t, but Hongbin didn’t believe that.  
  
A month later the calls stopped coming every day, or every two. They came once a week—some weeks: not at all—and Hongbin, not waiting so much as anticipating. Would Taekwoon finally let him have it? Tell him off, call him a brat; anything to break through the barrier that had grown overnight, but he never did. Always cheerful, a pleasant  _Hi, Bin-ah, how have you been_? Talking about bullshit they never talked about before, idle chit-chat— _small talk_. If a year ago someone had told Hongbin he’d be having  _small talk_  with Taekwoon, he’d have probably cried. Whether from sadness or laughter it wouldn’t have mattered. Only now, nothing mattered.  
  
So, naturally, Hongbin didn’t feel guilty the night in December when he’d leaned across the bed and kissed Jaehwan full on the mouth, nor did he care when Jaehwan crawled between his legs with his hands up the front of his shirt, fingers pressing hard into Hongbin’s ribs. But it didn’t feel the same, not even the kisses; and when it was all over, Hongbin found that he only felt worse. The spaces inside him hadn’t been filled, the edge wasn’t taken away; if anything, he felt hollow, sad on an immense scale, because he knew he didn’t love Jaehwan, probably never would. And to think that he was still in love with a boy so far away, who didn’t even call anymore, made him hurt in ways that left him breathless.

-

Six months after their first time (which became, subsequently, their  _only_  time) Jaehwan found a girlfriend—a woman whose name Hongbin couldn’t remember, but who was, for the three months they dated, the very element which fueled Jaehwan’s life. Hongbin had liked her—at least at first, before he was shoved from the front seat to the back, from the bed to the floor; from the dorm back to his own lonely bedroom. Lying awake, restless sleep; everything so cold: the pillows, the blankets, the left side of the bed. He had almost called Taekwoon during one of these cold nights, but as it was, they hadn’t spoken in over four months. When the phone calls were replaced with texts, and the texts with emails, it was a matter of time—Hongbin knew—before all communication was severed. He just hadn’t anticipated being the one to cut the ties. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore.  
  
They broke up the day before Hongbin’s nineteenth birthday (and what a shitty birthday that had been: Jaehwan in a heap on the floor, in the bed, beneath the covers, whining; Hongbin had gotten drunk by himself and wound up watching porn for thirty minutes; passed out with the laptop open and his hand down his pants, too hungover the next morning to be ashamed). And it seemed after she had gone, a floodgate was opened, or a dam had burst—something had happened, and it resulted in Jaehwan’s being busy every weekend: on coffee dates, dinner dates, art walks, museum visits, anything and everything; and Hongbin, still left in the backseat, watched as countless faces, all with names too unimportant to remember, came and went. And he couldn’t help but wonder: was he doing it wrong? He hadn’t kissed anyone since he last kissed Jaehwan—some stupidly drunken night that ended with Hongbin vomiting over the balcony—and he was beginning to think he’d never kiss anyone again. Not that there was anyone he was dying to kiss anyway. That wasn’t the point. The point was: he was lonely, he missed Taekwoon (though he’d rather die than admit this out loud), he wanted someone to sleep with again, someone who wouldn’t mind holding his hand without fucking him first, and he thought:  _it’s never going to happen_.  
  
But that had been before Wonsik.  
  
03 Two years later—after he’d dropped out of college and moved from his father’s home in Busan to a small flat in Seoul—Hongbin was cashing out his register for the night. Late shift at SunHi’s, where he worked as a waiter: small black apron around his waist, tips bound by a rubber band in the front pocket. It was five to midnight and the crowd had thinned considerably, but the bar was still full. There was commotion in the back near billiards, but that was normal for this time of night—men too drunk to stand with girlfriends clung to their sides, trying to drag them out before a fight erupted. It was as ordinary as the car horns that blared outside, the smell of exhaust that whisked through the open front door, mingling with that of the fried chicken and oysters in the kitchen; a terrible smell Hongbin had become used to.  
  
White button-up with the front undone to reveal a grey shirt underneath, emblem for a band so obscure he hadn’t even heard of them, but he’d found it at a thrift store and liked the material; black cargo pants and a pair of dirty high-tops. Hongbin took his cigarettes from the front of his apron—a habit he started soon after college—placed one behind his ear, lighter in hand; ready to say goodnight to the cooks behind the window. That’s when Mijun came from the back, a fire blazing in her eyes.  
  
In the four months he’d been working there, he’d come to know this look. It meant  _stay back_  and  _get the fuck out of the way_ ; fifty years old or not, Mijun could—and would—gladly take on any patron in the bar when it got nasty. Which apparently it had. The commotion had escalated greatly.  
  
‘ _You both better get the fuck out of here if you know what’s good for you_ ,’ she was shouting in her falsetto voice, so loud it could crack glass. ‘ _You think I won’t use this_ —' wielding an industrial bottle of mace— ' _then you’re dead fucking wrong_!”  
  
A laugh so brazenly amused echoed from the back; Hongbin cracked a smile. He knew that laugh, though he didn’t quite know the man it belonged to. Someone named Ravi—or at least that’s what the bar goers called him. A loud and pretty boy with short cropped hair, buzzed on the sides and messy on top. Dyed burgundy, it inadvertently matched the color of the bar stools, though if ever brought up, Ravi pretended not to notice.  
  
'I'm going, I'm going!' Hongbin heard him shout, still laughing, avoiding Mijun's hand as she swatted him like an irritable fly. He ducked away from her, spinning on his heels and flashing his robust grin. 'Don't worry, miss, I'm leaving now.' Then shouting over the top of her head—though she was tiny, it didn't take a lot to tower over her: ' _You better watch yourself, asshole_!' and getting clocked in the shoulder by Mijun's can of mace as she shoved him away.  
  
'Go home, Ravi,' she told him crossly.  
  
'I'm going—' hands up in defense— 'I'm gone.'  
  
Hands stuffed in his pockets, slight limp in his walk like he’d hurt his leg before and it never quite healed right. He caught Hongbin looking at him, and smiled crookedly. ‘Hi.’  
  
Embarrassed, shy; Hongbin bit his lower lip and stared at the floor. Dirty floor. Peanut shells under the bar stools and muddied footprints leading back toward the jukebox. Hongbin took the cigarette from behind his ear and put it in his mouth; and with much debating, followed Ravi out onto the streets.  
  
He stopped at the bus stop Hongbin was headed toward—coincidence was what he thought, and standing there with his smoke now lit, head down as if he’d found something particularly interesting on the floor, he stayed quiet. Even when Ravi chirped, ‘Could I get a smoke?’  
  
Blind fingers in his pocket, grabbing a cigarette and passing it over. He saw the coins Ravi was offering him and shook his head. ‘No. I don’t—you don’t have to pay for it.’  
  
'You're sure?'  
  
'That always makes me feel weird.' He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but..  
  
'Sorry.' The coins disappeared into Ravi's pocket. 'Also sorry about what happened in there. Was she pissed? She looked pissed.'  
  
Hongbin smiled around his cigarette. ‘I think she’s always sort of like that. Don’t worry. It isn’t like you’re the first to start a fight.’  
  
'Hey!' narrowed eyes that gleamed playfully. 'I didn't start that shit.'  
  
Laughing, ‘Whatever you say.’ Then, because he looked upset about something: ‘Are you alright, though? You look…’  
  
'Knackered? Hammered? Yeah, I'm a little trashed, I'll tell you that—' he laughed again; Hongbin decided it was the best laugh he'd ever heard— 'but I'm fine. Thanks.'  
  
'You look a little lost.. that's why I asked.'  
  
Ravi seemed genuinely taken aback: mouth slightly parted, head tilted like he was confused. His expression crumbled away into something close to gratification only a second later. ‘Oh,’ and he smiled. Then to his feet, cigarette crushed under his leather boot.  
  
'Actually,' he said, 'if you could tell me where the nearest hotel is—'  
  
'Hotel?' Hongbin wasn't so much staring as he was zoning out, watching an especially large spider crawl across the pavement. He was so tired; on his feet for the last seven hours and all he wanted was to be home. Ravi was speaking, said something about Gangnam District, far bus ride, farther walk; and Hongbin, muttering without really thinking: 'I've a couch.'  
  
'Oh yeah? Good for you, Ikea.'  
  
With a scoff, but not unkind: ‘I mean, you can.. stay on my couch for the night. If you need a place to crash.’  
  
'Oh,' and sizing Hongbin up as if expecting it all to be a dirty trick. 'You're not afraid I'm gonna kill you or something?'  
  
'Well, uh,' eyebrows coming together, 'I wasn't.'  
  
'Bad joke?'  
  
'Sort of.'  
  
Ravi bit his lower lip, muttered, ‘Sorry,’ but he was smiling. Then, after a moment: ‘Sure. I’ll take you up on that offer.’  
  
They sat one seat apart on the bus. It was as if they weren’t sure how close they should be; walking with an arms length between them as they took the two flights of stairs to Hongbin’s flat. The only light in the whole apartment, burning above the bookshelf in the living room, was last year’s Christmas lights; sallow with age, dull.  
  
'You've a better light than this, don't you?' Ravi was pointing to the bookshelf, grimace on his face like he was offended by the poor lighting.  
  
'Yeah, kitchen.'  
  
So they sat at a small table near an even smaller window; sweaty bottles of beer placed on old bar napkins. Hongbin was going through the cards Ravi had dumped from his wallet in favor of a packet of rolling papers. On the table, beside Ravi’s right hand: a pill canister filled with what Hongbin could only presume was weed.  
  
'Your driver's license says Wonsik,' Hongbin said, turning the card over in his hands. The photo depicted a twenty-year-old Ravi with shaggy blue, almost periwinkle, hair.  
  
'That's because it's my name,' he said smugly.  
  
'Then, why Ravi?'  
  
'Only an idiot would give their real name when their specialty is drugs, huh?' He winked, and licked the paper. 'I'd rather you call me Wonsik, actually. People who buy call me Ravi; and you're not buying, are you?'  
  
Hongbin eyed the joint rolled neatly like a cigarette, said, ‘No.’  
  
'You don't look the type, anyway. Have you ever—' he offered the joint.  
  
Hesitant, shaking his head; ashamed for reasons unknown.  
  
'Do you wanna try it?'  
  
'What does it do?' Hongbin asked.  
  
'Makes you happy.'  
  
How could he pass that up?  
  
It only took four drags before Hongbin’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t even open it; eyes itchy, goofy grin in place. He couldn’t stop laughing at the stories Wonsik told, even though he was sure they weren’t really that funny. And in the darkness of the apartment he could see for the first time just how lonesome it looked: couch bed in the living room and a television mounted on the wall. Save for the bookshelf there was nothing else but dirty clothes on the floor, a paperback left face down in the corner. The closet door was ajar, revealing empty hangers and a single coat. And his bedroom was even worse: mattress on the floor and an unused desk chair in the corner. He’d made sure to leave most of his belongings behind, not wanting anything from his father’s house, but looking now he wished he had taken more. And at the thought of his father: the happiness the pot gave him was immediately replaced with a feeling of cold dread. He thought of the house, his old room; blue bed sheets with tiny stars on them—his mother had bought them when he was ten and it had never occurred to him to change them. The creaky floorboard at the end of the stairs; his bedroom door that stuck shut in the winter; and the window which Taekwoon had crawled through every night for almost five years, rickety and abused by all the times it had been forced open.  
  
Hongbin inhaled sharply, blinked several times; his bones felt heavy as if gravity were pulling him down. Taekwoon. It had been a long time since Hongbin thought of him, had in fact been a memory so repressed he’d forgotten completely. How long since they last spoken? Unless he counted the time last winter (which he didn’t) when he’d woken to a text from an unknown number (it’d been years after he’d deleted Taekwoon’s number and so couldn’t be sure it was really him). The text had been simple: I miss you. It’d gone unanswered, of course.  
  
Three years. That was how long. God, Hongbin missed him.  
  
'Are you alright?'  
  
Slow realization that he wasn’t alone. Hongbin’s throat felt swollen shut, his heart was trying to crawl out of his mouth but it was having a hard time, stuck somewhere between his ribs and his tonsils; he felt he was choking on it.  
  
'You're not alright, are you?' Ravi— _Wonsik_ —was climbing to his feet, clumsy in his haste. He knocked over the pill canister, weed all over the table, but he didn’t look twice at it. ‘You look sick. I shouldn’t have let you smoke so much. You know, first time and-and —fuck, are you alright?’  
  
'No. —Yes.' Hongbin cleared his throat, thought he was going to hurl. 'I need to lie down.' And he tried to rise from his seat but vertigo washed over him, tilting him on his heels; hands clammy as he gripped the side of the table—was this a panic attack? Anxiety? He was vaguely aware of Wonsik behind him, of the hand on his shoulder that moved to his back; Wonsik, with his arm hooked around Hongbin's middle.  
  
As they moved down the short hall toward Hongbin’s room (his feet unable to support him, he was ultimately carried—though he wouldn’t remember this in the morning) the corners seemed to move toward him, closing in like a pack of wolves. He felt suffocated.  
  
Then: silence, beautiful silence.  
  
In his bedroom, on his bed, collapsed in a heap with Wonsik sat on the edge of the mattress. He was pushing the damp hair off Hongbin’s forehead, whispering things Hongbin didn’t understand. He said something about the morning, about feeling better; he was apologizing incessantly. Hongbin thought he felt a tremor in Wonsik’s hand, but maybe it was only himself shaking with cold sweat.  
  
He leaned into Wonsik’s hand, too dizzy to think of anything, simply lay there; happy to be touched at all. But it was fleeting. Wonsik was there, then he wasn’t, and it was only reaction that had Hongbin reaching out, reaching for him, pleased when he found him.  
  
With their fingers entwined, Hongbin rolled on his side, pulling Wonsik onto the bed with him. And it was nice having a body pressed to his own, Wonsik’s hand gripping Hongbin’s as tightly as Hongbin gripped him, and this is how he fell asleep: with an arm around him and Wonsik’s breath warm on his neck.  
  
It was ten to eleven when he woke the next morning, sun falling in stripes across his bed, bright in its arrival. There was a horrible taste at the back of his mouth, lips dry, stuck to his teeth; he groaned as he climbed to his feet, walking on legs that were stiff, aching joints. He felt like he’d ran a mile the night before, thought:  _I’m never doing **that**  again_. And standing in the hallway, confused, with a hand on the back of his neck, he stared for a while at the lump on the couch before realizing it was Wonsik. Lying in a fetal position, he reminded Hongbin of the little bugs he used play with at the park when he was small; tiny beetles that curled into themselves whenever touched. Or scared.  
  
He brewed a pot of coffee, let it cool in mugs on the counter as he brushed his teeth, showered, made himself as human as he could though he felt everything but. Then to the living room with a cup for Wonsik, crouching beside the couch. Hongbin touched his shoulder, then his face. He whispered, ‘Good morning,’ but Wonsik wouldn’t stir. Check the time: a quarter to twelve. He had to get to work.  
  
Leaving the coffee on the side table, Hongbin set his spare key beside the mug, a small note that explained he couldn’t be late. Then to the bus stop, quick steps, he was faintly pleased that he wouldn’t be there when Wonsik woke up, wouldn’t have to explain why he’d forced him into bed last night. The thought alone made him cringe, but it was hard to block out.  
  
-  
  
'What the hell?'  
  
Hongbin looked up from his place behind the coffee bar to find Wonsik, a mess of hair and the same clothes as the night before, standing with his mouth open like he wanted to say more, but had thought better of it.  
  
And sitting at the bar, hands folded on the counter, he whispered, ‘Do you always leave strangers in your flat?’  
  
'I left a note.'  
  
'Yeah. And your key. What if you never saw me again?'  
  
Hongbin shrugged; he couldn’t help but smile at Wonsik’s anger—if it was anger at all. More annoyance than anything. It was kind of cute. ‘Did you like your coffee?’  
  
With a sigh; a crooked smile, Wonsik rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yeah. Thanks for that.’  
  
Hongbin returned the coffee carafe to its cradle, put his elbows on the counter. Chin in his hands, he asked: ‘Want something to eat? On the house.’ And Wonsik’s smile, widening.  
  
'No, that's ok. I've got shit to do.'  
  
'Oh.'  
  
'What are you doing tonight?'  
  
Hongbin looked down at the counter, tried to hide his smile. ‘Nothing. But I’m off at midnight again.’  
  
'I'll be here.'  
  
'Yeah?'  
  
Wonsik, waving over his shoulder, already at the door. ‘Don’t leave without me.’  
  
Sure enough: there he was, midnight on the dot only he didn’t come in. Hongbin thought it may have been because Mijun was behind the register, hawk eyes scanning every face, probably looking for him. It’d be a while before she let him back in.  
  
He was leaned to the side of the building, one foot propped against the wall; a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, another behind his ear. And there, with his head down, leather coat and plaid shirt underneath, he looked like trouble. Hongbin felt a flutter in his stomach that crawled into his chest.  
  
'Wanna see a movie?' Wonsik asked. No hello's, no hugs. Right to the point. He took the cigarette from behind his ear, gave it to Hongbin.  
  
'Isn't it kind of late for that?'  
  
A shrug. ‘Maybe. I know they’re showing a couple down that way—’ pointing to his right. Hongbin thought he had his directions wrong, the theater was a block to the left, but he wasn’t going to mention it. ‘Saw it on my way here.’  
  
'Sure.'  
  
Walking shoulder to shoulder, no longer needing space between them, they made it in time for the last showing of some ungodly romantic comedy, something about friends falling in love. It was cute, but halfway through Wonsik was slouched so far in his chair his knees touched the seat in front of him. Hongbin thought he was asleep, was certain that he was, but when he leaned over to ask if Wonsik was alright, he sat up so quickly he nearly fell into the aisle.  
  
Rubbing his face, voice clouded with exhaustion: ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m up.’  
  
They left early.  
  
'I thought it was gonna be good. I mean, like, cute,' Wonsik said. 'I guess it was. But that was just… saccharine. Too much.' He pulled a face; Hongbin shook off his laughter. 'Anyway. Next one will be better. No more romances, huh? They're always predictable. Like, happily ever after and all of that. It never ends like that. Not really.'  
  
Hongbin, amused at first, felt his smile falter. He thought of Taekwoon again, felt the urge to claw at his face; touched his forehead instead.  
  
'You alright?' Wonsik asked. He was lighting another cigarette.  
  
'Are you coming home with me?'  
  
And stopping before he got it lit. ‘Do you want me to?’  
  
Subtle nod.  
  
Back at the apartment with a fresh pot of coffee, never mind that it was late, Hongbin sat on the kitchen counter, watching Wonsik empty his pockets. Pill bottles and plastic baggies, torn up pieces of paper, a used kleenex. He had his phone in one hand, was counting pills with the other.  
  
'What is all this?' Hongbin made a move to touch a bag only to have Wonsik absently move it away.  
  
'Nothing you need.'  
  
'So, is this, like, your career?'  
  
A snort. ‘I guess so.’ He typed out a text, pocketed his phone; and when he saw Hongbin was still looking at him, he sighed. ‘I wouldn’t say career, but it’s how I make money. I don’t know. It’s.. easy, you know?’  
  
'No. I don't know.'  
  
'Well, I don't have a schedule for one thing. I can do whatever I want and still make a profit. I mean, when I started out it wasn't so great. Got in with the wrong people—' another shrug— 'It happens. I was only, like, fifteen anyway. Got in a big fight, busted my knee'—Hongbin remembered the way Wonsik had limped out of the bar the first night— 'But it's easier now. Whatever. It's cool. But you're not getting anything so stop looking at it.'  
  
Hongbin blushed, not realizing he was staring. ‘Sorry.’ He hopped from the counter to refill his mug, and it was as he sipped carefully from the lip of his cup that Wonsik asked, ‘So what’s it feel like to have a drug pusher in your house?’  
  
'Is that a joke?' Hongbin asked. He motioned to the carafe in case Wonsik wanted some. He didn't.  
  
'Kind of, but,' and edging closer, 'not really.'  
  
'I'm not afraid of you if that's what you're getting at.' By the way Wonsik's eyes lit up, Hongbin thought he must have answered correctly. He smiled. 'Want a beer?'  
  
'If you don't mind.'  
  
In the living room, on the floor; Hongbin, on his stomach with his ankles crossed, mug left on the counter (it’d be cold by the time he remembered it), and Wonsik beside him. They talked about college—which neither of them finished—the third rate boarding school Wonsik attended when he was a teen; the dog he owned, his father who ran off with another man and his mother who never forgave him. And as Wonsik put it so kindly: No, she didn’t know he was gay, because why did she need to know who he was fucking anyway? And it was in this sense—the lack of austerity, the bright eyes and his laughter, so contagious—that Wonsik reminded Hongbin of Jaehwan. He seemed happy, even if he wasn’t; Hongbin thought about giving Jaehwan a call, then thought not. No reason to reach in the past.  
  
'And you?' Wonsik said.  
  
'What about me?' Hongbin asked sleepily.  
  
'Well, I don't know. Why don't you tell me?'  
  
Laughing quietly, face smeared in the carpet. He scrubbed the tiredness from his eyes, laid his cheek to his hands. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I spent most of my life drunk. I can’t remember any of it.’ It was supposed to be a joke, but came out too stern to be anything but the truth. No one laughed.  
  
And Wonsik, resting his own cheek to his hands, leveled his face to Hongbin’s. ‘Were you sad?’  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'Are you still sad?'  
  
'I don't know. I can't tell anymore.' It was too comforting, Wonsik's silence, and the way he idly touched Hongbin's arm. Faint tickle of his fingers, blunt edge of his nails. Hongbin let his eyes shut, flutter of his eyelashes as the A/C unit kicked on. And before he could stop himself, he heard his voice droning on, saying things he never would have said to anyone else; still to this day he can't figure out why he told Wonsik at all.  
  
'My mom left when I was a kid,' brief pause, running his tongue over his lower lip, 'then shortly after that, so did my best friend. And, well, it was a really hard time, I guess. Things happened that shouldn't have, I don't know. I said things to him once and I was mean.' Wonsik's fingers moved from his arm to his hair, gentle touch that made Hongbin's breath shake. 'I lost him. He never came back. Kind of sounds like a sob story, doesn't it?' He tried to laugh, but found he was crying instead. With his face buried against his hands, Hongbin said: 'I haven't even thought about him in years, but.. last night it all came back.'  
  
'Ah.'  
  
Lifting his head, glaring. ‘What do you mean  **ah**?’  
  
'It explains last night. I mean,' Wonsik spoke loudly as Hongbin's mouth opened in protest, 'it's normal. To grieve. Why don't you call him?'  
  
'I can't do that. It's been too long.'  
  
'Then, what will you do?'  
  
A shrug. ‘Be sad forever? I don’t know. It’s worked so far.’  
  
'I don't want to see you sad, though. Don't get me wrong. You look nice when you pout—like right now.' Hongbin snorted a laugh, hid his face. 'But you have a pretty smile that I like a lot better than the pout.'  
  
'Yeah?' Hongbin hated to admit he was flattered. He felt warmth spread across his cheeks, palms growing clammy. He smiled small; fleeting glance between Wonsik and the floor, wondering if this was any good for him—and ultimately not finding any flaws. So: reaching up, hand on the back of Wonsik's neck, Hongbin pulled him down and kissed him softly. Gentle touch of lips that lasted only a second.  
  
Wonsik pulled back, looked at him hard. It was as if he was sizing Hongbin up, looking for some hidden message or deeper meaning, but finding none. He leaned in again and gave a real kiss this time: fully on the mouth, his tongue pressing to Hongbin’s lower lip.  
  
'I can make you happy,' Wonsik whispered against his mouth, 'or.. I can try, at least.'  
  
It took a lot for Hongbin not to say,  _give it your best shot_. He settled for winding his arms around Wonsik’s neck instead and pulled him between his legs.  
  
-  
  
Two important things happened after that night. The first was Wonsik never really left. There were times he was gone for days, his only communication being spaced apart texts and late night phone calls. Both ending much the same:  _don’t wait up, don’t leave the door unlocked tonight. I’ll be back soon_. Panic sat heavily in Hongbin’s stomach on days like these, wondering if Wonsik would come back at all, and falling asleep alone again for what felt like the millionth time. And the fear that this was all he had to look forward to: cold mornings and colder nights; a space beside him left unfilled. But Wonsik always came back, always in the middle of the night, looking strung out and tired. He’d be asleep before his head hit the pillow, and he’d sleep for days. Wouldn’t eat. It worried Hongbin, but it was something he grew used to over time.  
  
Love was the second thing. In only two months time, he was able to detect the small changes in Wonsik’s motions: the way his fingers lingered longer on the back of Hongbin’s hand; how he’d wake early on the weekends to make him breakfast; returning library books Hongbin had forgotten about and replacing torn copies of his paperbacks. It could all be considered sweet nothings, small favors; little things Wonsik took pleasure in doing. But Hongbin never missed the gleam in Wonsik’s eye when he entered the room, how he jumped at every chance to do him a favor, to make him smile. And on the nights—there weren’t many—when they slept together, what started as impersonal and passionate as a one night stand soon was replaced by slow thrusts and long kisses; Wonsik nuzzling his face into Hongbin’s chest, his neck; holding him by his hips and asking:  _is this ok? what about **this**_? and after it was all done: holding Hongbin close to his chest like he was all that kept Wonsik from floating away, out to sea in a body of water so vast he’d be left to drown. And Hongbin left thinking: it could be love, if only he’d let it—but he never would. Because on nights when Wonsik’s fingers gripped his so hard it left his joints aching, Hongbin’s mind would roam and it’d go to only one place.  
  
Taekwoon.

04 It was late November. Chilly wind and frost on the windows; the steps outside were icy in the mornings, the balcony in even worse condition; Hongbin had taken to smoking inside. He’d pull a chair to the kitchen window, sit with his hand dangling from the empty frame; fingers bitten cold and red, feeling like they’d never be warm again. This was where he was when Wonsik came barreling through the front door from another quiet weekend away. His eyes: red-rimmed and bloodshot, sallow complexion and sunken cheeks like he hadn’t slept in days, but he was smiling. Energetic strides as he crossed the kitchen to crouch at Hongbin’s feet.  
  
'There's something I have to do,' he said. 'I have to go away again, but for longer this time. A week? Maybe two?' He raised a hand when Hongbin tried to speak. 'Sh, listen. I know it's short notice. My boss.. well, never mind that isn't important. There's someone I have to go talk to for him. In Tokyo—'  
  
'Tokyo?'  
  
‘ _Listen_.’ He cupped either side of Hongbin’s face, crowded closer, ‘I want you to come with me.’  
  
'You.. what?'  
  
Wonsik’s smile faltered, but only barely. ‘It could be fun, right? Us. In a big city.’ When Hongbin didn’t answer right away, he grew agitated; licking his lips, fingers curled toward his palms, uncurling. ‘I heard it’s really pretty there. And the person I have to talk to.. well, that will take a couple days. But after that it’ll only be us.’ Waiting a beat. ‘We can do anything you want.’  
  
Hongbin thought had Wonsik not looked so beaten down by his lack of enthusiasm, he would have said no. The idea of going somewhere new was nice enough—but actually going was a whole different feeling. Tokyo of all places— _Japan_ —brought a sense of déjàvu so sickly it made his stomach churn.  
  
He forced a smile, nodded once. ‘Okay,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go.’  
  
And that’s how, five days later, Hongbin found himself on a red eye flight to Tokyo. It was his first time on a plane; pale and sweaty. He threw up twice in a bathroom so compact it terrified him to be in it for long. The in-flight attendant, so falsely cheerful, gave him the creeps; and Wonsik beside him, bouncing his knees the whole time, tapping his fingers on the armrests, was only making him anxious.  
  
'Can't you sit still?' Hongbin whispered, miserably. He pressed a hand to his forehead, leaned back in his seat. Though he was tired, he declined the offer of a pillow and blanket.  
  
'I'm too excited. Aren't you excited?' Wonsik was huddled by the window, face nearly pressed to the glass. He tried to get Hongbin to look out, watch the sun rise, but he wouldn't dare move again. His stomach was in knots, sweat on the back of his neck. Turbulence beneath the plane's wing; he thought he was going to die.  
  
They touched down at a quarter to five in the morning, sun still rising in the east; and Hongbin, asleep on his feet. He followed Wonsik blindly, thinking: had he not been holding his hand, he’d have drifted off with a crowd of strangers. And at the hotel—expensive decor, satin sheets; a large television mounted on the wall and a bed big enough for four people—Hongbin fell into bed, and was asleep almost immediately.  
  
It was dusk when he woke; the blinds open to reveal a busy street below, car horns and bright neon. The television was on, playing a drama with the volume turned down; and Wonsik, fresh out of the shower, his hair still wet, and wearing only his briefs. He was standing in the bathroom with his phone pressed to his ear, talking lowly. Hongbin lay quietly in bed with the blankets pulled up to his chin, watching as Wonsik paced the bathroom rug. He checked his reflection, pushed the hair off his forehead. He looked annoyed, cheeks red, eyes narrowed; he had a habit of grinding his teeth when he was mad. He was doing it now.  
  
'I'm not leaving tonight,' Wonsik said. 'I came with a friend… I'm not asking you to fucking care, I'm telling you— …I'm not going.'  
  
Hongbin sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes. Wonsik noticed him immediately and closed the bathroom door. From then on, Hongbin couldn’t hear anything but Wonsik’s angered whispers; and a sense of panic nestled deep in his stomach. It turned to hunger only a moment later, so furious in its arrival he felt his insides cramp; and reaching for the dinner menu on the nightstand, he was deciding between the fried chicken meal or the clear soup when the bathroom door burst open. And there, an annoyed Wonsik stuffing his keys into his pocket.  
  
'I have to leave,' his voice was hard, but upon seeing Hongbin staring up at him with all the understanding of a sleepy child, he softened. 'I tried to get out of it, but apparently the guy I'm supposed to meet doesn't like to hear **no**.’ He sighed, rubbed his face. Hongbin could tell he hadn’t slept yet.  
  
'We just got here,' weak tone, knowing it wouldn't do any good to point out the obvious but unable to stop himself. 'I don't want you to go.'  
  
Wonsik crawled up the bed, leaned his forehead to Hongbin’s cheek. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’ll only be gone a couple days, though.’  
  
'A couple  _days_? What the hell, Wonsik. What am I supposed to do for that time?’  
  
'Anything? Don't get upset, please. I'll leave you money,' he took his wallet out, 'in case you wanna go do something. Just be careful, though. I don't want you getting lost.' He offered a wad of bills thick enough to make Hongbin uncomfortable, but by now he was used to the copious amounts of money Wonsik deemed Normal. 'I'll text you every chance I get—'  
  
'Wonsik.'  
  
'I'll call every night.'  
  
'Wonsik, no.'  
  
'No, what?'  
  
'I didn't agree to this.'  
  
He touched Hongbin’s cheek, kissed his ear. ‘You did. I told you I had to meet someone, and now I’m meeting them. But I promise, after it’s all done, it’ll be our time.’ And when Hongbin began twisting the hem of his shirt: ‘It’s only a few days out of a week. Please—’ he kissed the corner of Hongbin’s mouth— ‘I don’t wanna leave when you’re mad.’  
  
'Well.. I'm not gonna pretend to be happy now.' Weak smile as Wonsik laughed against his mouth. 'Promise to call.'  
  
'I promise.' Then crawling to his feet, patting his pockets, 'Did I leave enough money?' Hongbin's nod that Wonsik returned. 'I'm off then,' and another quick kiss before heading for the door. 'Order any room service you want. Don't worry about the bill.'  
  
Hongbin sat for a long time in silence, listening to the bustle of traffic, the wind through the trees; lazy chirrups of birds readying themselves for sleep. Then to the bathroom for a shower that lasted too long; he was lightheaded when he came back to the room, body tense and a tiredness so deeply set in his bones he didn’t think he’d ever be able to wake up. The food he ordered came in a hurry, but he took his time picking through it, not really watching the television so much as staring at it; and when midnight rolled around, he felt the first pangs of restlessness touch him.  
  
There was a map of Tokyo set on the nightstand, and so pocketing it along with Wonsik’s money and his half empty pack of smokes, Hongbin set out onto the streets. It was cold for early December; the smell of frost in the air accompanied by engine exhaust and something only associated with big cities; stale cigarette smoke, damp air; he wore a scarf but it did little to block out the wind. Though in the middle of a busy street, brushing against so many shoulders, Hongbin felt loneliness trickle into him like a cup being slowly filled. He imagined by the time Wonsik came back, he’d be overflowing with it.  
  
A cab was parked by the side of the road, empty. Hongbin tapped on the driver’s glass, motioned to the backseat; and it was when he was sat in the back with the seat belt on that he realized he didn’t know enough Japanese to carry a conversation. He’d left the translation book back in the hotel.  
  
The cabdriver was watching him carefully through the rear view, a small man with thinning hair and tired eyes. He repeated himself twice before Hongbin was able to reply.  
  
Struggling: ‘I… don’t know,’ he groped for words he knew he wouldn’t find, ‘Japanese. Very much. I’m sorry.’  
  
The man said something, said it again. He turned around in his seat and asked in English: ‘Where you from?’  
  
'Korea.'  
  
'Oh!' and he smiled. 'I know Korean. Very easy language.'  
  
Hongbin relaxed into the seat, head lolled back. ‘Thank God.’  
  
'So, where are you headed, my friend?'  
  
'I don't know.' He looked tiredly out the window right as a woman tripped over her own feet. Luckily her friend was there to swing an arm around her last minute. 'I just got in a little while ago, and I don't really know what I'm doing. Uh, if you could take me to a good bar, that would be nice.'  
  
'A bar? You got it!' The cabdriver pulled from the curb so quickly Hongbin veered right in his seat, belt straining to keep him in place. 'I'll take you to the best bar in the city. It's very nice. A little small—' he made a motion with his hand; held his thumb and index finger slightly apart as if to show just how small he meant, 'but it's nice. Quiet. Not too quiet though. You should feel right at home.'  
  
Hongbin spent most of the ride with his forehead to the window, puffs of breath left on the glass that he wiped away with the sleeve of his jacket. Bright neon, loud voices; the streets were heavy with pedestrians, city-goers, all alive with their own light; and Hongbin, feeling like a tourist in the midst of it all. He wondered what Wonsik was doing, and felt his heart leap uneasily. He didn’t like being out alone.  
  
It was when they were nearing their destination—he only knew this because the cabdriver told him every five minutes how close they were—that Hongbin leaned between the two front seats, asked, ‘Do you know if they accept foreign currency?’  
  
'Oh, not many places do, I'm sorry to say.' He waved his hand as if waving Hongbin off. Maybe he thought it was a dumb question. 'There's a place, though, close to here. Open twenty-four hours. You can exchange your money there. Very convenient, hm? Sit back, sit back, I'm gonna turn around.' But he didn't wait for Hongbin to secure his belt before flipping the car around, sharp turn; Hongbin slammed into the door. 'Told you to sit back. Why didn't you listen?'  
  
Then to the shoulder of the road where the cab idled. Hongbin stood by a machine much like an ATM, at a place that looked like a bank but wasn’t; he felt strange standing there with his wad of cash, felt like everyone was looking at him, wondering what he was doing, but knew that it was more likely that no one noticed him at all. And it was then, pushing his last couple notes into the machine, that Hongbin looked up, looked to his right and saw a cluster of people by the side of the road, all smoking cigarettes—a smoking circle, really, and a loud echo of laughter streaming from the crowd. But it wasn’t the laughter that had him freezing in place with the money forgotten, but the back of someone’s head. Which was silly in itself, but it was the shape of the person’s shoulders, the way they held their cigarette, that was so strangely familiar and foreign all at once. He stared for a long time, so long that the cabdriver honked the horn and asked if he was getting back in.  
  
The crowd dispersed; Hongbin’s eyes followed the person as they first flicked their cigarette, still burning, into the street, then into a bar that looked both seedy and oddly placed among all the livelier restaurants.  
  
'Uh,' and standing beside the cab, door open, 'I think here is fine, actually.' He handed a sum of money through the window, not bothering to count beforehand. 'Is that enough?'  
  
And the cabdriver, smiling victoriously. ‘Yes, looks right.’ Without a goodbye, he drove off; and Hongbin, barely noticing the cab’s absence, walked slowly toward the bar.  
  
A dream-like anxiety washed over him as he stepped through the dark doorway into a building with dim lights, talking people so enclosed in shadow they were only voices in the room; and the bar: so lively it was almost intimidating. Hongbin stood beside a vacant booth, hand gripping the side of it as if afraid he would fall; and the anxiety inside him bubbled up into his chest, made it hard to swallow. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he felt inside him but it was something good and bad all at once, like something had clicked and then exploded; his legs felt watery, his blood pounded in his ears. And it was as if he knew far before he really knew what was going on, that the person behind the bar with their back turned to him was exactly who he wanted to see and who he’d forgotten about so long ago.  
  
Then they turned.  
  
And Hongbin gasped, breath lodged right in his throat as he fell back into the booth, cold sweat sprouting on his forehead, because there, behind the counter with his hair grown shaggy over his eyes, was Taekwoon. And he was smiling, but not at Hongbin. He hadn’t noticed him yet, and Hongbin sat there for a long while debating whether he should get up or not, if he should leave or not, if he should say hi or pretend he hadn’t seen Taekwoon at all. His body made the decision for him. Feet carrying him before he knew what he was doing, walking toward the only empty spot at the bar top, laminated bar stool with a blue cushion and an emblem so faded he couldn’t decipher it. But it didn’t matter.  
  
'Hey—' he choked out; and how he could find the courage to speak at all was beyond him. He was trembling all over.  
  
Taekwoon looked up, fleeting glance like he didn’t want to make eye contact. His eyes flickered away only to return in an instant, dark and narrowed, brow furrowed deeply. He stared for a long time, hands hovering frozen over bottles of liquor.  
  
Then softly, so softly Hongbin didn’t even hear him, only saw his lips move: ‘Bin-ah?’ He barged forward like a man on fire, clipped his hip on the side of the bar but didn’t seem to notice. He shouted something in Japanese, taking his eyes away from Hongbin for only a second before he was an arms length away, close enough to touch, but Hongbin was afraid to. ‘How’d you find me?’  
  
'I—' Hongbin didn't know what to say, so he shook his head instead, unable to hold Taekwoon's gaze for long. He looked to his feet, then to the floor, felt his chin begin to tremble. No matter how tightly he pursed his lips together it wouldn't stop.  
  
'Okay,' Taekwoon said quietly. He put an arm around Hongbin's waist, hand cupping his hip; palm so hot Hongbin could feel the heat through his shirt. 'Let's.. let's go over here.' He pulled them into the Men's room, locked the door behind them, and Hongbin—afraid and nervous and feeling panic rise steadily inside him—backed away until he bumped the counter, scarf pulled up to cover his mouth  
  
'Why are you—' Taekwoon reached for the scarf. 'Are you hiding?' He laughed softly, a breathy sound that made Hongbin's chest tighten around his heart—how long since he'd heard Taekwoon laugh?  
  
'You look so scared,' Taekwoon whispered, all humor gone. 'Do I look scary or something?'  
  
Timid shake of his head that he knew wasn’t convincing; and the look that passed over Taekwoon’s face: sad, melancholic, like every hope he’d had of this moment was crushed in an instant—and maybe it was. Hongbin wondered if he’d played this scenario out in his head as many times as Hongbin had the first year Taekwoon went away, thought it wasn’t unlikely. The forlorn expression, so vividly portrayed on Taekwoon’s face, felt like a reflection of all the sadness Hongbin had felt over the years, and inside his head, like a cable stretched too thin: something snapped. He rushed forward so quickly he knocked the air out of his own lungs, arms wound tightly around Taekwoon’s middle, clutching the back of his shirt until his knuckles bled white. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry—not yet, not until everything was resolved, figured out—but there was the prickle of tears behind his eyes, and the press of emotion on the inside of his throat. He felt guilt wash over him and thought it would kill him; opened his mouth to speak, and whimpered instead.  
  
'Hongbin..' Taekwoon, embracing him, carded his fingers through the back of his hair. 'You better not fucking cry,' and there was a quiver in his voice, faint, but Hongbin heard it.  
  
He still couldn’t speak, and so didn’t even try. He cuddled himself into Taekwoon’s body until he felt smothered, and only then did he feel close enough, full body tremors as Taekwoon’s hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, from his shoulders to his waist; holding him tightly, intimately—like how it used to be.  
  
And some time later, after numerous customers had already beat on the door and Hongbin’s legs felt weak under his weight, Taekwoon asked: ‘Do you want something to drink?’  
  
They didn’t sit at the bar, but rather avoided it completely; Taekwoon, with Hongbin’s hand in his, guided them to the back, past the billiards table, and into a separate room that looked like an office, but felt too intimate to be one. There was a card table, a cluster of chairs, small fridge in the corner. Taekwoon took two beers from the top shelf, and sat in the chair closest to Hongbin.  
  
'I really can't believe you're here,' Taekwoon said. 'I mean, what are the odds, right?'  
  
Hongbin shrugged. ‘I didn’t know you were in Tokyo.’  
  
'Yeah. Moved here a few years ago. A lot nicer than Osaka. Busier, too.' He took a deep pull from his beer, glancing over his shoulder as someone started yelling. 'Look, I should probably get back to the counter. I don't know if they're capable of keeping shit together.' He brought his attention back to Hongbin, paused as if he found something he didn't particularly like. 'Actually,' reaching into his pocket, 'I'll go for a smoke first. Come with me?'  
  
Outside, by the street, people streaming by on either side of them; Taekwoon lit his cigarette, stared as Hongbin lit his own. ‘When did you start smoking?’ And answering before Hongbin could reply, ‘Never mind.’ He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, ‘I own this bar, actually.’  
  
Hongbin smiled. His mouth trembled. ‘Really?’  
  
'Yeah. The woman who hired me a few years ago, she didn't want the hassle anymore and her son's fucking useless. So,' shrugging, 'she handed it off to me.'  
  
'That's great, Taekwoon.'  
  
He faltered for a second. Then: ‘It is. I mean, sometimes it is. I always wanted to work in a bar, sure, but I hadn’t meant to make it a career. I’ll probably give it a few more years then pawn it off on someone else.’ He laughed; it wasn’t very convincing. ‘How have you been, Bin-ah? You look good. I like your hair short, it’s.. nice.’  
  
'Thanks.' Hongbin inhaled deeply, a mouthful of smoke that tasted bitter. He didn't want it. And upon realizing Taekwoon was still looking at him: 'What is it?'  
  
'I asked how you've been. Good?'  
  
'Uh,' mouth trembling worse now. It was still a shock, to be standing so close to Taekwoon that he could touch him if he wanted to—and how he wanted to. So badly. 'Not really.'  
  
Taekwoon huddled closer, concern written all over him; it reminded Hongbin of the way he’d looked at him the day his mother left. ‘What do you mean? Aren’t you happy?’  
  
'No.' The tremble moved to his voice. 'I mean, sometimes, yeah. I guess. But—' and it all flooded out before he could stop himself— 'I've missed you so much, hyung. I don't even know if this is really happening. Like, yesterday I was back in my apartment and I was waiting tables and everything was normal—or at least what's been normal the past few years and now I—' He started to cry. 'Are you really  _here_? Am I? I don’t—’  
  
Taekwoon hooked an arm around him, jolted him forward so quickly Hongbin dropped his cigarette. He nuzzled his face deeply into Hongbin’s neck. ‘We’ll leave right now, okay?’ Hushed whisper, barely detectable over the sound of traffic. ‘I’ll go inside and I’ll clock out. Don’t cry—’  
  
'No, no,' trying to wriggle free even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. 'You have to work. I don't wanna take you away from—' Taekwoon kissed him. Subtle press of lips to his mouth; and Hongbin: his inhibition, gone. He wrapped both arms around Taekwoon's neck, kissed him back hard and open mouthed, felt the press of Taekwoon's tongue to his lower lip. It took everything to stop Hongbin from pushing Taekwoon against the building, from slipping his hands up the front of his shirt, and had Taekwoon not pulled away, short distance now put between them, Hongbin was sure he'd have never stopped.  
  
'We'll go,' Taekwoon said again. 'Let me get my keys.'  
  
Then into Taekwoon’s car, black and spacious with leather seats and an impressive stereo system, Hongbin sat with his body angled toward him; their hands were clasped tightly together over the center console.  
  
'Where do you wanna go?' Taekwoon asked.  
  
'I don't care.'  
  
'Are you hungry?'  
  
'No.'  
  
Taekwoon glanced at him for only a second. ‘My place, then?’  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
It was a nice place, cute even—but Hongbin would never tell Taekwoon that. A two-floor condo with carpeted stairs and a small kitchen; coffee maker on the counter with a stack of matte, colored mugs. A black wood kitchen table, couch in the living room, large television—otherwise: an ordinary home that felt everything but.  
  
Hongbin sank into the sofa with his knees pulled to his chest. ‘What’s with all the art,’ he asked. The walls were cluttered with abstract pieces, some he was able to decipher but not many. ‘I didn’t think you were into this stuff.’  
  
'I'm not,' Taekwoon said from the kitchen. He came and sat beside Hongbin, fresh beers on the coffee table. 'My old roommate has a gallery downtown. He's always bringing shit over.'  
  
'So you hang it?'  
  
'He hangs it. I never tell him no.' He moved an arm over the back of the sofa, fingers brushing Hongbin's shoulder. 'So, about what you said before—'  
  
'Where's your room?'  
  
Taekwoon pointed to the stairs. ‘Up there.’  
  
'Can I see it?'  
  
Soundlessly leading the way, Taekwoon opened one of only two doors on the second floor, flipped a switch; and it was everything Hongbin had imagined it’d be. Bare, except for a desk in the corner, laptop closed on top. A large bed, black sheets, white blanket; a covering over the window to keep the sunlight out.  
  
'Wanna see something funny?' Taekwoon said. He moved toward the closet which stood open, and reaching into the far back, pulled out a small T-shirt hung on a wire hanger. It took Hongbin some time to recognize it, but once he did: a feeling of warmth spread in his stomach.  
  
'Is that mine?' It was. He knew it was, but he couldn't believe Taekwoon had kept it for so long.  
  
'I took it by mistake when I was packing up my stuff. I was gonna send it back but,' he put it back in the closet. 'I never got around to it.'  
  
'Why didn't you get rid of it?'  
  
Face pinched up like he was offended. ‘Why would I?’  
  
Hongbin thought of all Taekwoon’s shirts Jaehwan had given him, how he’d thrown them all out when he moved out of his father’s house. ‘I don’t know. It seems silly to keep hold of it, doesn’t it?’  
  
'No.'  
  
Hongbin sighed, moved to the bed. He sat with his hands clasped between his knees and tried to keep his breath even as Taekwoon crouched in front of him.  
  
'Hongbin—'  
  
'There's something I need to ask you. I've always wanted to, but I just.. I never did.'  
  
'Okay.'  
  
'Do you remember when you told me you loved me?' He stared at his hands when Taekwoon nodded. 'In what way did you mean it? I never figured that out.'  
  
And with a scoff, ‘Really?’ He laughed softly. ‘I wanted you to run away with me. I thought it was obvious what way I meant it.’  
  
'You never said it again.'  
  
'You didn't say it back the first time.'  
  
Hongbin inhaled shakily. ‘I—I was afraid to. You were leaving and-and—’ a burst of nervous laughter, ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’  
  
Taekwoon pressed the tip of his nose to Hongbin’s cheek, breath warm on his face. He swallowed thickly. ‘Hyung, I never meant to stop answering your calls—’ crying again and hating himself for it— ‘I was just angry and it never went away. I didn’t ever think that maybe you were angry too, when you couldn’t make it for my birthday. I just—I had this stupid idea that you’d come and you’d take me back with you. Me being eighteen and all, I thought—’  
  
'Hongbin.'  
  
'I'm sorry.’  
  
Taekwoon took his face in both his hands, leaned their forehead’s together. ‘Its fine, okay? It’s fine. It happened a long time ago. You shouldn’t be upset about it anymore, because I’m not.’ He touched his thumb to the corner of Hongbin’s mouth. ‘I’m just happy you’re here.’  
  
Softly, ‘Were you ever gonna come back?’  
  
'I was. But when we stopped talking.. It seemed pointless to.' Hongbin angled his face away; Taekwoon crouched even lower to look him in the eye. 'I really wanted to. For your birthday especially. But at the time, I wasn't—I didn't have the money. I thought I'd have enough saved up at the time, but I couldn't afford missing work. My job wasn't stable, and I—'  
  
'Stop talking.'  
  
'Just listen—'  
  
'I mean it,' swallowing the lump in his throat, guilt festering. 'Stop.'  
  
'What is it, huh? Don't you want an explanation? I don't want you thinking I was some asshole who never wanted to see you again, because I'm pretty sure that's what you've been thinking all this time.'  
  
'Not the  _whole_  time. I—’ He didn’t know what to say anymore. ‘I don’t know. I don’t care anymore.’  
  
Taekwoon rose from his knees to sit on the bed, shoulder brushing against Hongbin’s own. He leaned over so he could rest his face in the crook of Hongbin’s shoulder. ‘For the record,’ he muttered, ‘I missed you too.’  
  
'Hyung?'  
  
'What.'  
  
'Kiss me again?'  
  
So he did.  
  
Hongbin ended up staying the night, not having expected to go home anyway. He slept in one of Taekwoon’s old shirts, a long sleeved thermal that reached his thighs, wore his briefs underneath and nothing else. He’d thought, as he crawled into Taekwoon’s bed that night, that it would be the same as all the other times he’d laid in bed with him, but it wasn’t. Taekwoon had simply thrown an arm around him, pulled him to his chest, and slept. His hand hadn’t slipped up the back of Hongbin’s shirt like it used to, his thigh hadn’t found its way between his legs; and although disappointed, Hongbin had been happy enough having his face smothered in the front of Taekwoon’s shirt. He still smelled the same, and apart from his hair being a little longer in the front, looked the way he had the last time Hongbin saw him.  
  
It felt like a home coming; and he never wanted to leave.  
  
-  
  
'You should come to the gallery tonight,' Taekwoon said the next day over afternoon tea. Earl Grey in black matte cups; the tea label hanging over the rim. 'You might like it. It can be fun. There's free alcohol at least, so maybe you'll enjoy yourself.'  
  
'Your friend's gallery?'  
  
'Yeah. It's close to here, too. We can walk. Only takes fifteen minutes. Twenty if you're slow.'  
  
'We'll walk so we can get wasted, right?'  
  
'Pretty much.' He smiled as Hongbin nodded. 'You can wear something of mine. It might be a little big, but no one's gonna care. People go in there looking like trash all the time.' He talked as he drank his tea, moving around the kitchen in hurried motions. Keys in his pocket, checking his wallet; he set his mug on the counter. 'I gotta stop by the bar. I should be back in a couple hours.' And staring at Hongbin with his eyebrows knitted together: 'What, why do you look like someone kicked you?'  
  
Hongbin immediately looked away. ‘I—’ His phone rang, or more accurately: it began vibrating across the table, and the name plastered on the screen had him pulling in a deep breath. Wonsik. ‘Fuck.’  
  
'What's wrong?'  
  
'Nothing. I, —It's my boyfriend.'  
  
'Sorry?'  
  
Hongbin’s face grew hot, a pounding so loud in his ears it was a physical sensation; and he, reaching for the phone, afraid to answer but even more scared of letting it go to voicemail. He looked up at Taekwoon just as he pressed the phone to his ear. ‘Hey,’ he said into the mouth piece.  
  
'Where are you?' was Wonsik's greeting.  
  
'What?'  
  
'I'm at the hotel, and you're not. Where are you?' he sounded agitated, tired. 'I got here and it looks fucking deserted. Are you alright?'  
  
'Yeah, fine. Uh—' Hongbin's eyes followed Taekwoon as he first took a cigarette from his pack, placed it in his mouth; then out the front door, the sound of a chair scrapping against concrete. Hongbin got to his feet, looked discretely out the window to find Taekwoon sat in a fold-out chair near the front door, smoking. His shoulders were rounded, elbows on his knees. Was he upset? Hongbin imagined he was.  
  
'Hello?' Wonsik again. 'Are you—'  
  
'I'm fine.' He sat on the couch, uncomfortable knots twisting in his stomach. 'It's kind of a funny story, actually. I ran into a friend last night. At the bar. Uh, old friend.. from school.'  
  
'Really?'  
  
'I'm with him right now.'  
  
'Well,' the edge was still in his voice, 'are you coming back?'  
  
'Yeah, uh. Later? Sorry, I thought you were gonna be gone longer.' Hongbin cringed, fretful bite at his lower lip. He sounded guilty even to his own ears. Truth was: he'd completely forgotten about Wonsik. 'You said you'd be a few days. Is everything alright? Did.. did anything happen?'  
  
'Everything's fine.' Curt reply, hard tone. Wonsik never sounded this way before. 'Are you really with a friend?'  
  
'What does that mean?'  
  
'It means we've been in the city for only 24-hours and I come back to find you gone. No note. Not even a text. I was really worried. I called last night and you didn't answer, but I thought you were asleep. It was late. I didn't think anything of it. Now you're saying you won't come back until later. So, I'll ask again: are you really with a friend?'  
  
'Wonsik, what the fuck?'  
  
A pause so long Hongbin had enough time to become anxious. Then: ‘I’m sorry,’ and it hurt to hear such blatant regret in Wonsik’s voice. ‘I haven’t slept yet, I’m—’  
  
'That's alright.'  
  
'The guy I came to talk to was a fucking prick. Real asshole. I didn't get shit done last night. That's why I'm back early, and I guess—I don't know—I was scared that you weren't here. Like someone came and got you or something.'  
  
'Wonsik..  _Is_  everything okay?’  
  
'No. It's not. Nothing got accomplished and I'll be going back empty handed, which isn't fucking good. Whatever. I don't wanna talk about it on the phone. Okay? Just come back soon, please? I want to see you.'  
  
Nodding, even though Wonsik couldn’t see him. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’  
  
'Alright.' Then: 'Hongbin?'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'Be careful, huh? Don't get lost or something. Don't talk to anyone. If someone comes up to you—'  
  
'You sound really paranoid.'  
  
'I fucking am. I'm tired.' There was a sound like he'd yawned into the phone. 'I'm gonna sleep. Just be careful.'  
  
'Alright. I will be.'  
  
They hung up.  
  
Then: onto his feet, sheepishly rubbing at his nose as he joined Taekwoon on the patio. Cigarette almost finished; Hongbin lit himself one.  
  
Taekwoon smiled in amusement. ‘Boyfriend?’  
  
'It's a long story.'  
  
'I have time.'  
  
Hongbin sighed out a mouthful of smoke. ‘Well, technically he isn’t my boyfriend.’ He scoffed when Taekwoon raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I mean it. Like, we never made it official anyway, and it’s a lot different than you’d think. Like, I met him and-and all this shit happened, I don’t know. He lives with me—no, stop looking at me like that. It isn’t as serious as you’d think. It’s really not.’ And when Taekwoon started to look away. ‘Hyung, please. I’m being serious.’  
  
'You live with the guy. But he isn't your boyfriend? Or rather, he is, but he's not. Do I have that right?'  
  
'This isn't a joke.'  
  
'I'm not joking. I'm trying to understand.'  
  
Hongbin shifted uncomfortably, took a drag off his cigarette; and when Taekwoon got to his feet, he found himself taking a step back.  
  
'Hongbin, I'm not upset about this.'  
  
'Yes you are! I can see it in your face. Your eyes are bloodshot. They only get like that when you're mad.'  
  
Taekwoon stood baffled, mouth open and ready to speak but it seemed he’d lost the ability to. And shaking his head slowly, he forced a laugh. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I expected you’d never date or something.’ He waited a long time before asking: ‘What did he want, though? Is everything..’  
  
'Fine. I think? He sounded really agitated, but I don't think he'll tell me why. Anyway, he's at the hotel and he wants me to come back but I—'  
  
'You came here with him?' Taekwoon's anger was obvious now. 'You—Hongbin.'  
  
'We came for his work, okay? He was gonna be gone a few days. I guess he came back early. I didn't, like, fucking plan on being here. Or even seeing you. I—what do you want me to say?' His voice broke as the last few words fell out of his mouth, and standing there with a blush rising on his neck, fingers shaking nervously.  
  
With a sigh, Taekwoon sat back down; touched a hand to his forehead. He reached for Hongbin’s hand and pulled him into his lap. ‘Okay,’ he said softly and nosed under Hongbin’s jaw. ‘Don’t get all worked up.’ Laughing softly, but it did little to take the edge off.  
  
'Hyung, I don't wanna go back.' Hongbin hung his head, staving off the tears he felt just behind his eyes. He scrunched his face up, screwed his eyes tightly shut. 'I know that sounds really bad, but I don't want to. I wanna stay here, I wanna stay with you.'  
  
'Hongbin, you can't do that to him.'  
  
'I know that. But it doesn’t make it easier.’  
  
'Here,' Taekwoon pushed him to his feet. 'I'll take you back right now. You can sort it all out—'  
  
'What? No. I don't want to go! I just told you that.’  
  
'You have to.'  
  
'Taekwoon—' stopped by Taekwoon's hands on either side of his face, his mouth pressed to Hongbin's own. Kissing, though gently.  
  
'I don't want you to go,' Taekwoon said, his mouth only a fraction of an inch away. 'I'd like you to stay. Forever would be good. But you have to deal with this, okay? You can't run away from it and expect him not to get upset. You left home with him for fuck's sake, Hongbin.'  
  
'Fine.'  
  
'Don't act like that.'  
  
Whining, ‘Like  _what_.’  
  
'A brat.'  
  
Hongbin sighed, and let his shoulders slump. He closed his eyes as Taekwoon pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, fingers lightly touching the sides of Hongbin’s face.  
  
'Come on.' Taekwoon didn't wait for Hongbin to say okay or to even agree. He locked the front door, and dragged him to the car.  
  
-  
  
Parked in front of the hotel lobby: Taekwoon, with his head down; and Hongbin: watching the revolving front doors.  
  
'If I don't hear from you,' Taekwoon said softly, 'I'll understand. So don't worry about it.'  
  
Hongbin didn’t have anything to say in reply; simply looked at Taekwoon with distress crawling up the back of his throat. Taekwoon squeezed his hand, Hongbin squeezed back. He mumbled, ‘Thanks, hyung,’ and stepped out onto the sidewalk.  
  
People crowded the front desk, hallway filled with room service trays and countless maids and bellboys. The lift was full, so Hongbin waited for another. Three times the doors opened, revealed empty elevator carts, and still he ignored them to instead stare at the floor, to lean his shoulder against the wall and breathe deeply through his nose. Someone asked if he was okay; another person asked if he was lost, and shaking his head to all the questions, smiling feebly, wishing to turn invisible or to simply disappear, Hongbin worried his lower lip until he feared it would start bleeding. Then up the stairs, never mind the lift and its claustrophobic walls. He made it to his level, to his room; and standing by the door with apprehension building up inside him. It was another five minutes before he took out his card key and placed it in the lock.  
  
In bed: Wonsik, fast asleep and snoring loudly. The room was dark, blinds shut over wide windows and sunlight seeping from the bottom. So: into the shower, being as quiet as possible; Hongbin scrubbed himself until his skin was red, felt that even then there were traces of Taekwoon, something that would give away what he’d been doing; and standing in front of the mirror, feeling strange, feeling awkward, wanting to be anywhere but here. With his hair still wet, Hongbin crawled into bed; and felt tension wind itself around him just as Wonsik draped an arm over his middle.  
  
-  
  
Reservations at Tokyo Tower, dinner for two; it was a surprise.  
  
They sat in the back by a large window, facing the streets. Hongbin watched the cars, the people, watched everything but Wonsik who was telling him, at least some, of what had happened, and though none of it really added up, or explained Wonsik’s previous paranoia fit, Hongbin nodded and accepted it. He smiled when Wonsik smiled, ate when he ate—though he wasn’t hungry—and accepted the champagne offered.  
  
'You alright?' Wonsik asked.  
  
'Fine.'  
  
And somewhere between the meal and dessert a silence fell over them so thick it was as uncomfortable as it was hard to ignore; and Hongbin, playing with his fork, cringed when Wonsik asked: ‘How’s your friend?’  
  
'Fine.'  
  
'Everything's just.. fine, then?'  
  
Hongbin nodded, not raising his eyes from the tabletop.  
  
'Are you—' Wonsik cleared his throat— 'upset with me?'  
  
Hongbin looked up, looked Wonsik in the face, and felt suffocated with guilt. He swallowed, though it was hard to; clasped his hands, kept them in his lap. He smiled—it was forced, shook his head—also forced, and dropped Wonsik’s gaze. ‘I’m distracted.’  
  
'I can see that.'  
  
Desperate to change the subject: ‘Are you sure everything’s alright with you? And your.. boss? Or whoever. I mean, you seemed really upset earlier and—’  
  
'Is that what you're distracted by?' Wonsik sighed. 'I told you already. You don't have to worry about that.'  
  
‘ _You_  were worried.’  
  
'Was.'  
  
'You're sure? That it's all okay now?'  
  
Wonsik nodded, though reluctantly. Hands steepled in front of his face, he leaned his forehead to them. ‘Well.’ He didn’t miss the way Hongbin tensed; leaned back in his seat as Hongbin leaned forward as if trying to move away from him. He whispered: ‘We’ll have to leave early.’ Glancing up through hair that had fallen over his eyes. ‘The day after tomorrow, actually.’ And when Hongbin opened his mouth to speak: ‘Don’t be upset okay! It’s.. it’s just that I don’t feel comfortable staying here. Or having you here. If it was only me, then I probably wouldn’t leave right away. You know, try to work it out. Figure something out. But it’s a mess right now and having you here—’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking bringing you along. I mean, literally anything could go wrong during these trips. But I thought: hey, it’s the boss’s brother, right? He should be alright. But he’s actually an idiot and-and who’s to say he won’t.. you know? Like.. do something drastic?’  
  
Hongbin only stared.  
  
'Are you mad?'  
  
'I—' Hongbin shook his head in disbelief. 'What am I supposed to say?'  
  
'Nothing? There's nothing to say. I'm just telling you is all.'  
  
'Are you telling me someone is going to fucking  _kill_ me?’  
  
'No! —Be quiet, huh? Want someone to hear? God,' and hanging his head, laughing despite himself. 'Hongbin, it's not that serious. I meant it like this guy's stupid, alright? And stupid people tend to do stupid things. Like, maybe he trails us or something, or has a guy follow us somewhere. Maybe he gets a good look at you and me and sees us together and thinks: hey, who's this kid I've never seen before? What does he know? You know. That kind of shit.'  
  
Hongbin didn’t say anything.  
  
'So,' Wonsik: playing with his napkin, folding, unfolding, 'I'd feel better if we left. We can go somewhere else. It isn't like I can't get our tickets rerouted. China, maybe? We can go to Germany. Rome? Fucking Sweden, I don't care. Anywhere.'  
  
'I don't wanna go to Sweden.'  
  
'Okay, somewhere else then.'  
  
'I don't wanna leave.'  
  
Wonsik touched an index finger to either of his temples. ‘We can’t stay, Hongbin.’  
  
‘ _You_  can’t.’ It was after he’d said it that Hongbin understood exactly what was said. Audible swallow as Wonsik looked him over. ‘I, uh—’ he cleared his throat; welcomed the silence that followed.  
  
Wonsik never asked what he meant by it; in fact, he didn’t speak for the rest of the dinner. He sat with his hands in his lap and his face turned toward the window, watching the people outside.  
  
-  
  
The hotel felt much colder with its unmade bed, exposed windows with the curtains drawn open. Shadows crawled across the walls as headlights outside cast their ugly yellow lights through the glass; and Hongbin, feeling ashamed and cold, had his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He sat at the end of the bed, watching Wonsik change from a sweater to a T-shirt, back angled toward him the entire time. Then crossing the room, short but determined strides, stopping at Hongbin’s feet, watching him evenly before dropping down to his knees. He never took his eyes from Hongbin’s own—not even as he leaned in, one hand cupping the side of Hongbin’s neck, the other touching high up on his thigh, thumb pressed to the inside of his leg; leaning in with his lips pressed in a tight line, breathing shallowly from his nose.  
  
Hongbin pulled away; Wonsik followed.  
  
'No,' Hongbin said quietly, shaking his head. He tilted his chin to his chest, his forehead resting to the bridge of Wonsik's nose.  
  
'Did I,' he cleared his throat. 'Tell me what I did wrong.'  
  
'You didn't do anything wrong.'  
  
'Then—'  
  
'The friend I ran into,' Hongbin whispered. 'I told you about him before.'  
  
'The one that left?'  
  
Nodding, turning his face toward the window. ‘He, uh, he wasn’t..’ Hongbin bit the inside of his cheek. His palms were sweating.  
  
'He wasn't only a friend,' Wonsik finished for him.  
  
'Right.'  
  
'And you want to stay.. with him?'  
  
Another nod, this one softer than the first.  
  
'Because you love him.'  
  
No answer.  
  
It was a long time before Wonsik moved from the floor to the bed, sitting far enough apart that they never touched. He had the hem of his shirt clutched tightly in his hands, voice soft, barely above a whisper when he asked, ‘Is there any way I can convince you to, uh, to.. stay? With me?’ He took the silence as an answer, nodded to himself.  
  
Hongbin didn’t want to look at him, but he had to; and found Wonsik with his eyebrows knitted together, eyes cast down. Was he going to cry?  
  
'I don't wanna leave without you,' he muttered. 'But, I—I get it. I guess? I mean,' laughing; a hollow sound that seemed to echo in the air around them, 'I don't really get it, but.’  
  
Hongbin could see Wonsik’s hands were trembling; how, as he folded them neatly in his lap, his fingers shook. He reached over, put one hand over both of Wonsik’s own.  
  
'Will you stay tonight? At least.'  
  
'I'll stay until you leave.'  
  
They ordered a movie on pay-per-view; room service; a bottle of wine that no one drank, and as Wonsik called the airline to schedule his flight for the following morning, Hongbin lay in bed with his eyes closed, back leaned to the headboard. He hated that, even now, he couldn’t stop thinking of Taekwoon.  
  
The movie was one they’d seen before, and the only one on the list that was of any interest; a drama surrounding college students that seemed silly and petty the first time they’d watched it, but now felt too real to be comfortable. A girl in love with a boy who didn’t love her back, coping with it, not coping with it, falling behind; losing herself, and Wonsik now beside him with his eyes fixed diligently on the screen as if it were the best movie he’d ever seen; his face pained. Hongbin wanted to touch him, just to let him know that—what? He wasn’t sure; but he hated how lonely Wonsik looked.  
  
Sometime in the night, after the movie had ended and the wine grew warm, food cold and untouched on plates nicer than any Hongbin would ever own, Wonsik first lay with his head on Hongbin’s shoulder, his hand resting low on his waist; and it was as if he’d been ready to be pushed away, but Hongbin never did; and over time, as the air became thicker and the room was colder, Wonsik turned his back to Hongbin. Body curled in on itself, knees pulled to his chest; and Hongbin, unsure if he should turn his back as well. He slipped his arm—which fit perfectly in the curve of Wonsik’s hip—around his middle, and held him.  
  
'You don't have to do that,' Wonsik muttered.  
  
'You don't want me to?'  
  
'No.'  
  
Hongbin retracted his arm, face hot with shame; and before he could roll over, roll away, Wonsik turned toward him, arm pillowed under his head. He touched his fingers to the front of Hongbin’s shirt, eyes not quite meeting Hongbin’s.  
  
'I love you,' he whispered, 'but you knew that already. Didn't you?' He moved as if to touch Hongbin's cheek, pulled his fingers away as if realizing this was something he didn't want to do. 'I—' faltering, faltering, growing silent for so long Hongbin didn't think he'd continue. 'I know that this,' motioning between them, 'was an accident. Okay? I know that. I think about it a lot. How none of it made sense; a kid like you? Being with me? No way. But, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you or-or love you, okay? Because I do. So much. And—' he came closer— 'if, for some reason, you don't like it here. If it doesn't end up being how you expect it to. I—I want you to know that you can call me. I'll come get you. I'll take you back home. Okay? Even.. if it's a long time from now.'  
  
'Wonsik,' Hongbin started uneasily.  
  
'I only wanted you to know that. I'm not saying I don't want it to work out, because that won't make you love me. I know that. And I—I want you happy. But I want you safe, too.'  
  
'Wonsik—'  
  
'This isn't a discussion. I was only telling you.' He turned away, arm still pillowed under his head. 'You can put your arm around me now.'  
  
So Hongbin did, timidly at first, fingers brushing the front of Wonsik’s shirt, feeling his heated skin underneath; and thinking, I’ll never touch him like this again. It hurt to think; so he slept instead.  
  
Wonsik called for a cab at ten, and it arrived at twenty after. His plane was to leave at noon; and he, standing with his bags beside his feet, loose shirt slipping off his left shoulder.  
  
Hongbin watched as he put the bags in the trunk, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. ‘Let me know when you..’  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'You can call.'  
  
'I probably won't.'  
  
Nodding, ‘Okay.’  
  
'If you ever come back..' Wonsik rubbed the back of his neck. 'Don't be a stranger.' He moved as if to get in the cab, but turned on his heels; walking hurriedly, rushing toward Hongbin. He pulled him into his arms, kissed him hard on the mouth. A quick kiss that Hongbin barely had time to return, then moving away as if burned, saying: 'I'll take care of your things.'  
  
'Yeah, don't— like, sell it or something.'  
  
Wonsik laughed, a real laugh. ‘No promises.’ Then into the cab, head ducked low; looking at his phone, not wanting to look out the window; and Hongbin, left waving as no one waved back, feeling a chill set deep in his bones.  
  
05 Eight o’clock, sitting in the hotel lobby with a lonely suitcase by his feet. Hongbin bounced his knees, chin cradled in his hand as he watched people come and go, so many families, happy people with happy children; and he, feeling empty and hollow. But then a voice, the only voice that mattered—that ever mattered—said, ‘Are you alright?’  
  
Taekwoon, with his keys in his hand, hair a mess around his face. Cheeks red and bitten cold; he was wearing a worn-in sweater, grey with a zipper in the front. Hongbin recognized the sweater as one he’d fallen asleep in countless times back at his father’s house. It always smelled like old cigarettes and faded cologne.  
  
He was to his feet before Taekwoon could reach him, throwing his arms around his neck and forcing Taekwoon’s face against his shoulder. He wasn’t crying, but he thought he could—if he wasn’t careful. ‘I can stay, right? You’ll let me stay with you?’  
  
Taekwoon, laughing. ‘Of course, Bin-ah.’  
  
'Forever?'  
  
'If that's what you want.'  
  
Composure, lost; Hongbin, crying, feeling weak and horrible. ‘He left. He just—he didn’t wait. I didn’t expect him to, but still. I don’t— I’ll never see him again.’  
  
Taekwoon nuzzled his nose to Hongbin’s cheek, hushed him softly. ‘If you regret it—’  
  
'I don't!' Then, quieter: 'I don't. I feel bad, though. You know? I feel awful. He was so upset, not that I didn't think he'd be. He told me he loved me, and I didn't know what to say because I don't love him. Because I love you and I—’ catching his breath, hating the way Taekwoon was watching him carefully.  
  
'I love you,' Hongbin repeated, softer now.  
  
Taekwoon pushed the hair out of Hongbin’s eyes and the motion, so gentle, so affectionate, reminded Hongbin of the way his mother used to touch his hair, tucking it behind his ears when it’d fallen in his face.  
  
'You love me, right, hyung?'  
  
'Of course I do, Bin-ah. I always have.' And kissing Hongbin's temple, taking the suitcase and hooking it over his shoulder. 'Let's get out of here, huh?  
  
And following, just on Taekwoon’s heels, Hongbin took Taekwoon’s hand into his own, cold fingers entwined, and felt for the first time since he was sixteen that he was finally going home.


End file.
